


Providence

by Scrumpadouchus



Series: Polyphony in Parts [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Old Lore, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Trust Issues, Xayah slightly acknowledging her trauma for a hot second, fuck the new bios they're garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumpadouchus/pseuds/Scrumpadouchus
Summary: "You can't fight providence Xayah, you can only embrace it"– Dark Cosmic Jhin
Relationships: Rakan/Xayah (League of Legends)
Series: Polyphony in Parts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/974331
Comments: 20
Kudos: 100





	1. Regress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stortita#8043](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=stortita%238043).



> Hello everyone!! I've been working on this fic for a few months now in the hopes I'd have it finished for the third anniversary of the release of Xayah and Rakan!!! Happy April 19th everyone!  
> Now before I go any further, I need to mention that this fic goes into some territory of upsetting topics -more so than usual. Xayah's canon lore hints (in a pg-13 kinda way) that when she was a young teen and went out to see a human village for the first time she endured a variety of abuses including attempted sexual assault. Either way, I've hinted at this trauma before but I really wanted to dive into it for a while so here we are. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my friend Tortita on Discord (here's her Twitter: twitter.com/tortiitart) she's wonderful and sweet and an amazing artist!!
> 
> Speaking of twitter, I finally remembered that I have one of those, so feel free to come say hi to me if you want. (@Scrumpadouchus1) You can also @me in Rakan mains, if you wanna chat lore or yell at me to update, haha

-=-=-=-=-= 

_“Please – “_

_The word chokes forth from her throat as her back hits the hard trunk of the tree. It smarts. Her vision goes blurry. Their laughter is harsh against her ears. Hands grasp her wrists, force them together and above her head. Nails drag at her skin, tear at her clothes. Not men. Beasts. They rip off her cloak, tear down her dress. Exposed to the spring air, she feels goosebumps rise over her skin._

_“Looks like she’s got more to offer than just her feathers, boys.”_

__

_One of them wolf whistles. Xayah clenches her eyes shut._

__

_She’s pushed to the ground, lands and scraps her palms, her knees. Someone spreads her thighs apart, while her arms get pinned at her sides._

_“Stop - ! Anyone, please - !!!”_

_Their weight is crushing. Her heart sprints in her chest, pounding almost loud enough to deafen her. One voice, disembodied and gravelly whispers in her ear;_

_“No one’s coming, honey. If you’re nice, we’ll be nice too. How does that sound?”_

_Xayah pushes up with her arms, tries kicking out with a leg. She gets one kick in. Then her face is forced down against the dirt_ . 

_A sharp burning within her groin. She tries to scream, but all she tastes is soil. She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe_ \- 

~~~- 

Xayah comes to with a gasp. 

It takes a second, listening to the stillness of night, cool air against her face. Eventually her heart slows its marathon pace. Her eyes feel hot, and she wipes the wetness from her cheeks with a grimace. 

_That dream again_ . 

By now it’s unrecognisable, the memories twisting and reforming into new scenarios with the same players. 

She darts a look off to the side. _Still alone_. Rakan is asleep somewhere outside, not startled at her stirring. _Good. He didn’t hear_. Would there be any point in going back to sleep again? 

Xayah presses her thighs together, trying to snuff out the phantom burn. Her feathers prickle, the yanking of her feathers from her skin had felt like needles. Her heart pounds in her chest like a drum. 

_It was so long ago. Why am I still thinking about it? I should be over this by now_ . 

Shuffling back down into the blankets, she closes her eyes again briefly. A shiver runs up her back, makes her flinch in a full body twitch. She waits a moment but it lingers, the creeping sensation that runs up her spine, like the crawling of several metre-long centipedes. 

For a second some feeling wells up in her, a shaking of her heart while her stomach attempts to evacuate its meagre contents. She urges without cause several times, body shaking like a leaf, eyes burning from the strain. 

_Stop it. I’m being stupid_ . _Years ago. It was years ago_. Xayah pinches her own arm, but she still feels like the air in her lungs in trapped, and she can’t make a sound, _the taste of mud still on her teeth_ – 

A feather plucks free from her arm. The skin stings sharply a few seconds, then numbs to a duller tingle. Her mind focuses; then looks regretfully at the semi-warmth of her bedroll. 

A deep sigh. 

_No point in trying, then_ . Xayah squints at their tent flaps, focuses on her hearing any sounds, any animals that might indicate morning. No chirping nightingales. No peeks of light coming through the slits in the tent. 

_It doesn’t matter. I’m not getting back to sleep again tonight_ . 

\--=-- 

The next day they walk a near twenty hours straight, pre-dawn to far past dusk while worryingly dark clouds gathering on the horizon to block out all the starlight. Soon navigation would become impossible. 

“Tonight, are we going to stay at an inn?” Rakan’s tail has perked up, he points excitedly somewhere to the east of them. “We’re close. I know Voran is just a mile or two that way –“ 

“No human villages.” Xayah says stiffly. She keeps walking forward, not even turning her head. 

“Aww really? C’mon Xayah, it’s – “ 

“You heard me. You can go if you want.” Knowing him, the temptation of wine, a hot bath, and easy company was an irresistible lure, even if it was a mortal village. 

Rakan falls silent, footsteps pausing a moment on the crossroads. A few moments later she hears his steps resume, once again following her path. 

She ignores the warmth blooming in her chest. 

\--=-- 

_That dance, those golden feathers, that vibrance… a performance for humans? What Vastaya would dare do such a thing?_

__

_She dwells deeper than she should, so much that she doesn’t hear the men hiding just off the road, though her ears were more than capable._

_Another failure. Shouldn’t she know better by now?_

__

_A rock hits the back of her head and she flinches. Her feet stumble. Then a cold blade is pressing up against her throat, a calloused, thick set hand is groping at her inner thigh_ . 

_“Your time of year, isn’t it? Just make it easy for us, hmm luv?”_

_Daggers in her hand. She reaches to stab – a piercing sting against her neck. The man behind her tuts. Another laughs, somewhere out of view as a set of dirt-stained hands grasp her hips._

_How many were there? Just waiting to use her_ ? 

_How long until she runs out of luck_ ? 

\--=-- 

Xayah jolts awake. Uncomfortably warm, she feels trapped, sweat soaking her night clothes, her hair at the base of her neck. 

_What was the point of trying to sleep_ ? She digs the heels of her palms against her eyes, shudders. She feels dirty, imprints of fingers, of the knife still digging against her skin. A layer of sludge she can’t remove, something that will always coat her, be part of her. No matter how much she bathed, she never felt clean. 

She can still try. 

Pulls herself out of her sleeping bag. She rolls it up, packs the blankets up as well, lashes it together as tightly as she could manage. She leaves her leather overlayers, pulling on just her woolen smock and leggings, takes a drying linen and slips out of the tent. The moon is still out, hung high like a silver comb. 

Her breath fogs in the air, she passes under a grove of trees, searching for a stream. Small patches of snow still were present under thicker tree cover. Ears flick; she hears nothing besides the wind shaking branches, the drip of melting snow. Icicles falling from deep places to shatter on the ground. 

_Alone_ . 

Xayah breathes. 

She wasn’t sure where Rakan went whenever she settled to sleep. Ever since joining her a few months ago in the fall, she had made it clear that he wasn’t allowed in the tent with her. She had expected he would get a small yurt of his own, but the man had shrugged and not complained. He still packed as light as ever, only with his own bedroll and few blankets. 

Sometimes though, she’s sure she’s heard him sneak away somewhere. _Mostly when there were human towns nearby._

_No sleeping in human towns_ . Xayah clenches her fist around her dry cloth. _That’s my one rule_ . _Rakan doesn’t care to follow it though... too seduced by parties and… warm, receptive company_ . 

She grits her teeth. _Someday it’d come back to bite him_. 

_Then I’d have to go rescue him_ . 

Xayah finds the pond. There’s still a thin layer of ice near the parts of the shore, and she steps on it with relish. The sharp crack rings through the night, and she inhales deep, lungs burning. 

It’s still so _cold_ , early spring not being close to thawing the deep frost from Ionia’s winter. She shivers, discards her leggings and long sleeved tunic and steps until her the talon tips of her toes are almost touching the flow. 

Frigid air lays heavy around her, yet something burns in her blood. Uncomfortably warm, like a fever, it flows just under her skin, magma under the earth’s crust. _Too hot. Too cold. Too tired. Too restless_. Xayah pulls hard at her ears, clenches her eyes shut, her gut twisting once again. Her tongue tastes sour with bile. 

_Rakan’s at the town, probably. I should leave here without him_ . It would serve him right. 

_Sooner still. Only three months ago, Vlonqo, a surprise performance. I was distracted… sloppy. If Rakan hadn’t_ – 

Xayah dives into the water. 

It sends a shock up through her; mind blissfully blanks as a shock-wave ripples out through her nerves from her head to her feet. Resetting every cell in her body with the deep cold. 

Under the surface it’s quiet. Her heart beats hard despite the frigid water, her lungs spasming from cold-shock. Her feet dig into the frozen mud, pushes down until she’s on tip-toes. 

She surfaces with a gasp – her face burns in the night air. She coughs, roughly scrubs over herself with her soap, once over, twice over, thrice - then combs out her hair with what comb she’d nicked from Rakan, forcing it through each knot with force. 

_His dance, his outstretched ands towards the crowds, his songs that had flowed as easily as the wine. So hopeful, so trusting, or at least willing to humour_ . 

She scrubs through she cannot feel flesh, though her skin is red, bumpy with goosepimples. 

_The trees outside Vlonqo had been red and gold as bright as flames, mind swimming with a smile and a song when fingers had dug into my side, a copper-stained blade at my throat_ – 

Xayah dunks under again, memory fleeing her mind. Surfaces while panting, quivering, then wades back to shore. Her wet hair already is stiff with frost by the time she’s back on land. Drying cloths could only do so much. 

Even washed, scrubbed, the crawling feeling remains, her skin will not settle, agitated without cause. 

It’s wrong. Her body feels not her own, flesh pulled slightly too tight, tugs at her organs, her bones compressing her far too taut. Xayah cannot suppress her shivers, speedily tugs back on the leggings, her loose tunic slip, her foot wraps. 

_Too warm again_ . 

Her hands are pale, fingertips purpling, but she just knows the crawling heat, creeping forward once again as her abdomen tightens. The wash had only been a brief respite. _There’s no way… not now, it’s been so long_. She can’t even remember what it was supposed to feel like, back at _Korpvei’ne Kyla_. The magic of the earth was too thin here to support this… _there was no way. This wasn’t… this couldn’t_ … 

_What could she do_ ? Send Rakan away for a few days to dally and have fun while she holes up somewhere private and suffers? 

_Enough of this_ . 

Xayah screams out, stabs a conjured knife hard into the bark of a nearby tree. The crack of wood splitting is more cathartic than the ice. Chest heaving, she rubs her hands back over her eyes once more. They feel heavy as stone. How long since she properly slept? 

_I need to keep moving. There’s no time for this. The sooner I reach the Tankhu, the better_ . 

She continues back to her small camp, shaking occasionally as the wind blows. It wouldn’t take long to take apart her tent, pack all her bags. _Rakan will catch up whenever he notices I’m gone. He somehow always does_ . 

“Xayah?” 

She freezes in place, her feathers rising up, daggers appearing in her hand. Alone, high above her, a cocoon of bright feathers rests upon a thick branch, gold and red, greens and blues. She drops the daggers, they dematerialise as soon as they part her fingers. 

_He was sleeping in the tree_ ? 

He drops down to meet her, feet landing with a deceptively soft thump against the frozen dirt. She takes a step back, own wings curling around her. 

“Are you okay? You’re all wet.” Rakan seems pretty alert for someone who has just woken up, though his hair is a bit wilder than usual, his feathers more fluffed up. “Won’t you get cold?” 

“I wanted to clear my head.” She says stiffly. Her jaw sets. She spots a few spots she could tuck away, she’s small enough to fit. A few nooks in some nearby trees. If she needed to, she could hide away, have a good vantage point to stab – 

_-Why do I need to worry? Rakan is fine. Mostly_ . 

“You’ll get sick. This area has no magic.” He frowns. Even his feathers seemed to glow less here. He was like a magic litmus test. 

“I’m fine. Okay? Drop it. Let’s just move on.” 

He lingers a moment longer. Takes a step backwards, lifts his hands, palm up to face her. It fills her with relief. Rakan gestures for her to keep moving. 

“You’re the leader.” 

She nods. 

“Let’s keep moving.” 

  
=-=-=----------=-=-= 

  


_What was taking Rakan so long?_

Xayah stands on wobbly legs as her back pulses with pain. She had sent Rakan away twenty minutes ago to ensure there were no others in the immediate area, but he should have returned long before now, unless he’s run into some stragglers. 

A little twinge of fear, a light prickle along the back of her neck. She shakes her head. 

_He’s fine. I would have heard something_ . 

She glares at the five bodies scattered now amongst the forest paths. _Garbage. Not even suited to be picked at by crows. They had armour, swords, red banners_ . 

A small Noxian scouting party perhaps. _I had heard that they send their women alone as scouts._ Though the five she had felled were all men _. Perhaps this wasn’t true. It seems to be a bit to progressive for such a war-mongering nation_ . 

_Whatever they are, in the end, they weren’t good at dodging_ . She spits onto the dirt. _Animals_. 

Xayah continues for a few steps, finds their packs discarded on the ground. Her own backpack has been sliced clean in half from the second man’s sword at the beginning of the ambush, sending the contents tumbling all into the snow. Her maps and papers are soaked and dirty in places in the remains of the icy drifts, while her charcoals and wrapped foodstuffs would be salvageable. 

She leans over to pick up one of her maps. Pain flashes up her back; she grunts; a sharp scream from the muscles caking the back of the rib cage. _Not good._ She tumbles forward onto the ground _._

Dirt. Gritty against her teeth. Her nails dig into the hard mud, curses as she pushes herself back onto her knees. Wipes her arm across her mouth. 

The back pain intensifies, shooting down to rattle about her hips. 

Colour, among the early-spring trees, a cloak of bright golds and reds amongst the nudes of late winter. She abruptly feels slightly lighter. 

“There’s no more!” Rakan calls. “It’s clear.” 

He ducks under a few ever-green boughs, joining her back on the main path. 

_Safe. For now_ . Xayah pushes off the ground with her hands, knees knocking, but gets back on her feet. Somehow the news doesn’t do much to settle her. She cannot stand still, waiting here, feet itching to pace even as her back throbs like a flickering fire. 

Movement, high in her peripheral vision. Xayah blocks Rakan’s chattering out, snapping her head up to look for the source. _Small. Red-brown_ . _Just a squirrel_. 

She sighs. 

When she looks back Rakan is watching her, head tilted to the side slightly. 

“Xayah?” He finally asks. “Want to set up camp?” 

_No_ . She thinks first, tuning out the rest of his words, _no way I can settle with just this_. Her heart is still racing a mile a minute, guts still refusing to untie themselves. 

_This was supposed to get easier with time_ . She reminds herself. _How is it that things got harder again after Rakan joined? I am older now. I can’t act like a child_ . 

“ – yah, your back,” he continues, “you need to clean it. I know somewhere close.” 

“No towns.” Her voice doesn’t shake. She ties her torn rucksack best she can into a bindle, and Rakan’s face twists. Looks back and forth briefly, before frowning back at her. 

“Alright.” He stands unusually still a moment; his entire body going still as death. “Can you walk?” Rakan asks then. 

She grits her teeth. _I’m not weak. After all this time, he still thinks of me like that_ ? 

“Of course.” 

“It’s high up. A mountain cave. Humans never take these paths.” Rakan continues to press forward, gesturing with his hands as if it would properly convey the scale of the mountain to her. 

“I can make it.” Xayah says. 

“Your wounds. Do you – “ 

“ – _No_.” She shivers. _Why can’t he just stop pushing_? “I’m fine. Okay? Let’s get somewhere safe first, then I’ll dress it.” 

Another pause. Rakan stares at her a few seconds more. 

“As you wish.” He finally says. 

He takes his pack and the remains of hers, slings both over his back before taking the lead, walking in front of her. His gait is uneven, left foot staggering every cycle. His tail is tense, the dim feathers there staying unusually subdued as he walks. 

When she tries to catch a closer glance, she notes there’s blood stains on his pants, on his leg wrappings, but those could really be from anywhere. He fights mainly with his feet, she’s sure the blood must be from a human. 

The path is crusted with ice, coating the rocks in a half-melted slurry. About half-way up Xayah loses her footing, and tumbles a few feet down, her skidding feet sending a flurry of tiny gravel to scatter down and pitter into little pits of snow. Her back knocks against a particularly big rock jutting out of the climbing path and stops her descent. For a moment she gapes in shock, then the stinging of her back returns in full force, and she has to bite her tongue to not cry out. 

“Xayah! Are you okay?” Rakan leaps down to kneel at her side. She slaps his hand away, though her eyes water in agony. 

_This is nothing. I’ve been through worse. Stop showing weakness_ . 

“Stop it. I’m fine. Why do you keep asking?” She snaps. His hand returns down to her, outstretched a few inches away, an easy offering. 

He helps her to her feet anyway, warm arm sturdy as a thick tree at her side. His eyes are sad. 

“We’re almost there. Do you want me to carry you?” He kneels slightly and swings their bags to rest over his front, leaving his back open for her to climb atop. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She says icily. 

_Why was he trying to embarrass her so_ ? She scowls, and Rakan adverts his eyes, straightens back up to full height. 

They walk in mostly-silence as they tread up the rest of the way up the side of the small mountain. The second time Xayah slips Rakan doesn’t jump back to her side to assist, though he does stop and watch until she’s back on her feet and walking again before continuing on. The torment races through her back with a renewed freshness. 

_How is he having an easier time than me, with a limp and both packs_ ? _It’s not fair_. She pouts, then scuffs a talon on an icy rock, and swears once more. 

“We’re almost there.” Rakan calls back over his shoulder. 

_Great_ . She thinks sourly. _The torture is almost over_. 

She cannot see the stars or moon for the trees, and it felt like the forest itself was slowly getting closer and closer, enclosing them both _. A cocoon of safety they could recover in, or a dead-ended trap_? She’s not quite sure. 

_With the two of them… would it really be okay_ ? Only one season they’ve been travelling together. _How well do I know Rakan, really_? Her palms are sweaty, stained with blood and dirt. She rubs them against her leggings. It doesn’t help. 

“Wow!” 

She looks up from her feet. Even with the entrance to their temporary shelter a few metres away, Rakan is standing still, looking up at the sky. Curious, she follows his gaze. Clouds are gathering again on the horizon, moving fast on the wind. _More snow, this late in the season_? She glares as if it would scare the impending weather away. 

It’s faint, but there’s a soft rush in the air, like all the clouds in the air releasing a deep sigh. It blocks out the echoes in the valley, filling it instead with the white noise of soft rain. It’s soothing like wind through grass, slightly less dampening than flakes of fluffy snow. She feels small. 

Another deep throb of pain from her back; Xayah winces, digs her nails into her arms. 

“We’re here? Good.” She walks stiffly past him, giving him a quick shove with her hand. “I’ll set up my tent in the cave, there should be room.” 

It’s all about being safe. It’s about privacy. He could sleep outside her tent and still be in a sheltered area. It wasn’t cruel. 

“Let me help. You’re too hurt.” He carefully limps around her, shrugging the bags off his back. They land gently onto the floor of the cave. 

“Rakan – “ 

“It’s no trouble. You need somewhere warm to sleep.” He’s slow to kneel, but he unrolls their small tent, sweeps rocks out of the way with his feet, then spreads out the fabric, weighting down the bottoms with other rocks. Bamboo sticks telescope out, prop it up. 

A tiny shelter at the back of the cave. It should make things warmer, at least. Rakan starts gathering some of the bigger rocks, puts them in a circle on the area sloping towards the entrance to the cave. The floor of the cave is dry, but barren. No dry leaves or grasses for temporary bedding. No chance in finding them now, in this wet weather. 

“I’ll get some wood. You stay here.” He says. 

“You’ve done enough. Let me -” She moves to stand; her whole back clenches, shrieking pain racing through her spine. She drops back onto her bottom as her knees buckle. The tall peacock seems to ignore her entirely, continuing his slow but steady pace out of the cave. 

“- I’ll be back!” Rakan calls over his shoulder. For about a minute after he leaves she can hear his singing, echoing until it fades with whatever distance he’d put between them. 

_Why does he sound so happy? He was only going to get wet and cold_ . 

Xayah shuffles in place. _Because of me_. 

The thought sits a second, heavy on her mind, then she shakes her head as she scoffs. 

_I didn’t ask him to. It’s his choice to be an idiot_ . Then again, a pit of warmth below her stomach, spreading out in a flush over her skin. Her hand forms a fist, holds it over her belly button. Presses in a few seconds, though the feeling doesn’t fade. 

_Infection, maybe? This quick_ ? In low magic areas, it was a risk. She picks at the dirt under her nails, scrapes them all clean, distracts from the pain across her spine. She’s smeared all over with mud, both her skin and clothes need a good scrub. She could go outside in the sleet, wash herself off in the open, or find another pond like a few days before. 

_Would that be the best choice with my back_ ? A pang wracks her, as if in sync with her thoughts. When she shifts her clothes tug against her skin, cold and sticky. _Maybe not_. _Fully Immersing herself like that would sting like mad_. 

They have a kettle, a pot in her pack. Xayah pushes herself off the ground, takes small steps until she reaches the cave entrance. She places their pot outside to collect the falling sleet, and plucks a few icicles off the mouth of the cave. They drop into the kettle with a _clink_. 

It would take several rounds to heat enough water to make everything clean, but it looks like they weren’t going to be going anywhere anytime soon. 

Xayah snaps her fingers; not even a spark is conjured up. She tries again, then a third time, and each time gets nothing. Despite the heat in her stomach, she sees goosepimples rising over her skin, and she shudders. 

_There must be quinlon somewhere nearby… this area is barren as a salted field_ . Her frown furthers into a grimace. _My rebellion will spread the ashes that will bring life back to this land_ . 

There’s no other choice but to succeed. If she fails, the deaths of her father, of her clan and countless others would be in vain. Nobody else but her was taking a stand. 

_It’s all on me_ . 

Her nails dig in against her arms, and she plucks another feather free. 

_I have to do better_ . 

\--=--=--=-- 

By the time Rakan returns, both the pot and kettle were full. He has a teetering pile of logs balanced precariously in his arms, stacked taller than his head. He drops them with a clatter to the side of the cave while she sits shivering, scowling at the empty fire-pit. 

“Are you doing okay?” He asks. His feathers are dull, not shining as much in this dim light. 

Xayah hugs her arms; nods at him. _The green of his pantleg is further stained with a dark red_. 

Out of the folds of his clothes he pulls scraggly yellow moss, pads it down into the base of the fire pit, props up the splits of rich-smelling wood like a teepee. 

“It’s not going to light. It’s too damp.” Xayah can see wet spots on the wood; the smell of rich, fresh tree was impossible to ignore. Even if he had covered the piles with his wings on his trek back, the last few days had been wet, snow stuck in a purgatory of form, unsure whether it wanted to melt or re-freeze. It would take several days stacked in a shelter before it became usable. 

Rakan only winks at her, turns back to the firepit. He cups his hands; a small blue flame flickers between his fingers. He blows on it gently, coaxes it to a slightly brighter glow, then transfers it down onto the bed of moss. His lips form the shape of a few words; she can barely hear them, but it’s a language she does not recognise. 

The flame flares brighter a moment, then clings to the wood, it’s small, but a promising start. When he takes his hands away, the flame dims back to a rosy orange. 

Rakan turns back, proud smile on his face. He adjusts the pot to sit on one of the flatter stones of the fire pit, then hangs the kettle off a roughly fashioned spit so it hung over the fire. When he straightens his ears flicker, and idly he traces a hand against the wall of the cave. 

This time she hears him. 

“ _Va’hera_ ~” He hums it as if the cave itself could hear him. Xayah waits too; ears cocked in the silence afterward, and hears nothing. Though that - she acknowledges with some frustration – is not new for her, magic rich area or not. 

“ _Co’om va’h tuaqi_ ~” He tries again. 

Whatever he seems to want have happen does not occur. Rakan shrugs jovially and drops his hand. 

“I tried!” He chuckles, turning back to Xayah. “I didn’t think I’d be lucky. The earth here is asleep. Winter makes it harder, but no magic makes it harder again. Sorry, we’ll just have to sponge bathe.” 

Xayah blinks. _Had he just tried to sing-shape the stone_? 

“What language was that?” She sharply asks. “It was not _Baraashi_.” 

Rakan cocks his head slightly. 

“Oh, it’s _Omben_. I’m not very good at it.” He laughs, “Grandfather would make fun of my accent. But it’s very close to _Lhotyl_ , so I can wing it. Get it – wing it?” His feather-cloak flutters a bit, as if stretching itself out. 

_Omben. The magic language_ ? _I knew he was older, but_ … 

The chill from the cave was being driven back, slow but steadily from the tiny fire. Smoke from the wood chased the air flow out to the entrance, thankfully. Xayah hopes it doesn’t appear too obvious to any near-by brutes that they were here, even though Rakan had assured her it was off-limits to humans. _Another fight is the last thing we need right now_. 

“Do you have any spare clothes?” Rakan picks up their packs, starts rooting through them without asking permission first, but at this moment she’s beyond caring. 

“One set.” She answers. Her mind is swimming. 

_His magic_ … Xayah swallows. Her neck flashes hot; how is he so much more talented? Age alone? It could only do so much. _To ask such a specific thing would be rude… but…_

“Ah-hah!” He pulls out her second set. It’s nothing extraordinary. A wool tunic, thin leggings. More fitted for proper-spring than this cold-spike. His own second set of clothes are similarly thin, though the man had a much higher cold tolerance than herself. 

He pulls out a white top from their second bag, clearly fitted for himself. He tears his thumb’s claw in, tears the thing into long, semi-even strips. 

“What – ?“ 

“Bandages.” He replies easily. “It’s fine. I can always get more clothes.” 

By the time the whole thing is shredded, the water on the fire is bubbling. Rakan retrieves the pot, lays it closer, within her reach, close enough to not strain her back. Xayah retrieves their washcloths from her pack, is about to drop them in when Rakan holds up a hand. 

“One minute.” Rakan digs into his own pack. He pulls out a clump of pale yellow soap wrapped in leaves, and a small jar filled with some mystery substance. He uncorks it. She immediately smells some queer mixture of citrus and flowers. 

It looks gritty. _Salt_? But it’s coloured, a pale purple with scented seeds, or perhaps withered petals. 

“My scrub.” He says, and scoops a heavy glob out of the jar with two fingers, drops it into the pot of hot water where it dissolves instantly. “It should help.” 

“What is it?” Xayah sniffs loudly. All she can tell is salt, and the faint hint of floral. She had seen Rakan in the fall, occasionally squeezing the juice out of berries over a jar, staining the insides a lovely purple, then mixing it with a finger. She takes the mostly-empty jar, sees what looks to be unrecognisable seeds, and perhaps dried flower petals in the salt mixture. 

“It’s good for your skin.” He says, “But right now I’m thinking of your back.” 

“The petals are good for my wound?” She repeats back doubtfully. 

“No.” Rakan says, “the salt.” 

Seemed unlikely. She wrinkles her nose. That was part of his personal bath stuff, along with a generous supply of soap. But she has never heard of salt serving that purpose before. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll wash after you.” Rakan says. 

She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes; _as if she would be concerned about him_. But it was a nice gesture, all the same. 

Xayah uses the clean water of the kettle for her face, brushes out her hair elaborately before pouring the heated water form the kettle over her head. It drips down, soaking through her hair to drip into her clothes, drops that didn’t soak in collecting at her feet, the sloping of the cave coaxing it down to slowly pool in a divot off to the side. 

Rakan takes the empty thing after and brings it outside the cave briefly, then hobbles back in, hanging it back over the fire to melt another batch of clean snow. 

She scrubs hard at her face with the dry linen, ruffles it through her hair, combs it down again before securing it up in a braid. The heat of the fire would dry it thoroughly soon enough. 

After her hair, face and hands were done, she’s presented with another issue. Xayah pulls her wing-cloak over her shoulder, examines the feathers there. They too she rubs over with a warm cloth, sloppily grooms what she can reach, stopping long before the pseudo-cape merges into the flesh of her shoulder blades. _It would have to do_. 

Then she pulls at her clothes slightly; they rub, her blood sticky but congealing like a glue that fuses her skin to fabric. Soon removing it would tear against her skin, like the removing of a large scab. 

“Rakan, leave me. Go stand outside.” 

He looks confused, he takes a half step towards her; before seemingly thinking better. 

“What do you mean?” 

She crosses her arms. In theory she could go to the tent. But the fire provided light and extra heat, dried her faster. 

“I need to wash. Give me privacy, _please._ ” She puts a bit more force on that then necessary. 

“Oh. Oh!” He winks, waltzed out to the entrance, then calls back; “Yell out if you need me!” before disappearing completely. 

_Out again in the rain_ . 

Xayah waits a minute, staring at the entrance to the cave, ears swiveling back and forth. It doesn’t sound like he’s nearby, or at least nearby enough to spy, though his movements could be blanketed by the sound of ever-constant sleet. 

_Would he be sleazy enough to spy? To stare_ ? She turns it over in her mind. _How long since he’s satisfied his urges with strangers at some town_ ? _All men couldn’t be trusted when it came to their physical desires_ . 

She looks back outwards again. No sign of his bright colours, just the rain, the dark shape of trees in late-dusk. Just to be sure, she whips a line of feather-daggers straight forward, hoping they’d hit anything lingering in the shadows outside the exit. No response from the action, not even a questioning call from Rakan, and thus she deems it safe. 

Xayah tentatively pulls at her clothes, winces _. It would be best to do it fast_. She shucks her dress, cries out as it rubs against her back. A rush of heat, enough to spread down and across her, quickly chilling in the air. 

Scrubs the dirt from her arms with the soapy cloth, her shoulders, her front, drying quickly after. Her leg-wraps peel off slow, then she soaks her throbbing feet briefly, then brushes it all dry with a rapidly dampening towel. The only thing left is… 

_My back_ . 

She arches forward, tries to crane her neck to peek at the damage. All she can see is dark red, mixed with the dirt, half dried down her entire back. She can’t even tell where the cut begins or where it ends. It was a small blessing that the soldier had missed her wing-cloak. 

_Maybe here_ ? 

She holds her breath, then reaches her right arm back around herself, prodding what areas she could reach with her fingers. It stings, the protests of her flesh a persistent wail. After a few seconds her fingers start to tremble, and she retracts her arm, exhales immediately. 

Xayah dampens a wash-cloth in the pot with the added salt, then stretches back again, tries to sponge off her skin. For one second, she manages it. One awkward stroke downward. 

_A good start_ . She takes another breath. _Take this one step at a time_. 

She tries again, tries to reach a little higher this time, on her lower ribs. 

She puts slight pressure on the cloth. 

Her wound starts to sting, growing and growing until it feels like a burning of her very blood. She yelps and drops the woven washcloth, chest heaving a few moments, before dropping her torso to hug her knees. 

_It’s useless_ . _Maybe I can pour water over my shoulder and hope it cleans it? If I don’t do something, I’ll get an infection for sure._

She’s not sure what an infection in a low-magic area would mean, but she’s not too eager to find out _._ The molars of her jaw grind together _. The humans have made us useless, weak and frail as themselves. We’ve been blessed with blood of our noble, virtuous ancestors, brought down to commonness of clay._

__

Xayah sits for a few minutes, staring stubbornly at the lazily steaming water. Drip it down over her shoulders, maybe? Would that be good enough? 

_I’m taking too long_ . 

Another two splits tossed into the fire. She uncrosses her arms and looks over at her only spare set of clothes, laid within reach by Rakan. A thin blanket was laid atop them too, perhaps with the intention she’d use it to dry herself. 

“Xayah? Still doing okay?” Rakan’s voice echoed in from outside the cave. 

She snatches up the blanket, unfolds it and splays it over her front. 

“Don’t come in! I’m not done!” 

“Did you wrap your back yet?” 

She grimaces. _Why would he ask such a thing? Was it a trick question_? He’s nagging like a parent. 

“…No.” She admits. 

“Good!” 

_What_ ? She bristles, clutches the cloth to her tighter. 

Rakan stumbles into the cave, one hand covering his eyes, other hand holding out what looks to be scraggly weeds. The leaves are diamond in shape, milk-white petals clustered in sets of four. _They were growing even amongst the snow? They must be resilient_. Either that, or he managed to sing them from the earth. 

“If you didn’t bandage up yet, you should use these.” 

“Weeds?” She reaches out for one, holds it to her nose and sniffs. The smell was very faintly sweet, like that of milk. “Am I supposed to eat them?” _If it would help with the pain_ … 

She takes a quick nip of a leaf, then spits it back out as her face puckers. _Bitter_. She wipes her tongue against the back of her hand. She holds it back immediately, and Rakan drops the hand covering his eyes and takes it back with a laugh. 

“No, you grind them into a poultice, put it on the wound, then cover it with a bandage.” He blinks, then grows still, eyebrows drawing together as his smile slightly fades. “You haven’t washed your back yet.” 

A flash of heat, for once flooding her cheeks rather than the sick sting of her spine. She looks to the side, at the marbling embers of the campfire. _Nice observation_ , she wants to snap, _way to use your head_ . The wood pops in time with the throbbing of her back. 

“I can’t.” She states instead. There was no point to whisper it, to act shy. It was _undignified_. She raises her chin, tries to set her shoulders; and is hit with another wave of pain. She hisses, looks back to the side. 

“Ah.” Rakan nods understandingly. He takes a single step, then stops, watching her face intently all the while. 

“What?!” She finally snaps. 

He lifts up his palms, takes a half step backwards. _In that room, she can breathe._

“I can help, if you’d like.” 

_Help_ ? 

It takes her a second, a few slowly ticking seconds where she stares him down, unsure as to whether she should summon a dagger or wait it out. 

Rakan looks so unassuming. He stands, shifting back and forth from foot to foot rhythmically, but from what she knows of him by now, even that amount of fidgeting seems it took effort to sustain. 

“With my back?” She looks down at the hot water, still somewhat opaque with the salt and steaming. “You want to help wash my back?” 

“Only if you need it.” He shrugs, slumps back onto his laurels. “If not, it’s no big deal.” 

Rakan picks at his own dirty clothes, brushes some of the drying mud off his cinched woolen jerkin, and dancer-slacks. He frowns down at his clinging doublet, tugs at it. Xayah retreats her gaze guiltily back to the fire. 

_The water was meant for him too. It’s not only me that needs to get washed up, not only my wounds that need to be wrapped_ . 

Xayah inhales as slow as she could muster, wills her lungs to expand to peak, then holds that excess there, relishes the tight feeling that makes her feel about to pop. 

Her head drops down. 

“Fine. I need your help. I can’t reach it on my own.” The words feel scratchy as mortar in her mouth. 

She shuffles in place, draws her thighs to her chest, adjusts the blanket protecting her modesty and rests her hands on her kneecaps with a scowl. 

_Surely it wouldn’t take long. Just for him to clean my wound… how long could it be, really? Less than five minutes_ . 

_What was the most he could do to her anyway? Rakan wouldn’t, probably – maybe - or else he would have long before now. But even still, he couldn’t do much, not if he’s just touching near my spine_ . 

He wouldn’t dare try to strip her. _But what if he does_? 

She’s seen his hidden strength, packed dancer muscles that could just as easily let him pirouette as they did break a man’s ribcage with one kick. 

It wouldn’t take much effort for him to hold her down, rip off the blanket covering her. If he chose to, he could have her pinned in seconds. She can’t summon daggers with her hands pinned. 

She shivers, hugs her knees tighter. 

Rakan wouldn’t. It’s been three months. If he had wanted to, he would have before now. Right? 

She waits; squeezes her eyes shut. 

He hasn’t touched her yet. _What was he waiting for_? She wants to scream; _just do it already, get it over with, prove my point_! She bites a crack into her lower lip, digs her nails into her knees. She hasn’t been touched like this since she was a juvenile. The thought makes her tremble, makes her empty stomach curl harder into knots. 

_I have no choice._ She thinks _, I have to let him touch me_. 

“Xayah? Is it okay to start?” 

Rakan sits at her side, the salted water and bandages between them. The strange plants he’d gathered have been laid next to the heated pot. Xayah jerks back to reality. Looks at him furtively, then back away. 

“Hurry up and do it.” She mumbles into her knees. 

She can hear him shifting, shuffling on the cave stone to kneel more behind her. Water splashes as he dunks her washcloth in the basin and Xayah braces herself. 

The heat washes over her first; her scapula, her spine. Then she _feels_ it. Stinging first, mounting to sensation of burning, her back might as well have been set alight, or perhaps Rakan had dragged his claws through her. 

“Ack!” She curses, bites down on the skin of her knee. “What is – ?” 

_What was with the water_ ? 

“Ah… sorry – “ He laughs sheepishly, and the cloth withdraws. “It’s the salt. I should have warned you.” 

“The salt?” 

“Have you not used it on wounds before?” His tone is light, not patronising, despite his surprise at her lack of knowledge. 

“No… we used honey–“ Her thoughts retreat a moment to a quiet village, homes sung into the old, thick-trunked trees that reached the sky… but then the freshly dripping cloth returns to press lightly against her spine. “- Gah!” She jerks her arm back, hits him harmlessly in the knee. Her head whips around to glare at him over her shoulder. “Hey! Rakan. Can’t you be more gentle??!” 

Rakan’s mouth loses its smile, his eyes turning down. 

“Sorry. I know it hurts. Do you want me to stop? Or do you need a second to breathe?” 

Water splashes over the side of the pot as he drops the cloth back in. 

She shakes her head. _What, did he think she wasn’t strong enough to handle it_? 

“I’ve been through worse on my own.” She replies. A younger, much more frightened her had to stumble her way through more than her fair share of first aid when she travelled. If she could handle digging a barbed arrow out of her own arm, she could handle this. 

She grimaces. _Thank goodness for our fast healing_. 

“I know.” He says. His eyes still look sad. “But you can take this at your own pace.” 

“I said, it’s _fine_.” 

Rakan takes back the cloth, wrings it out, and slides it across her upper back, from shoulder to shoulder. It doesn’t hurt this time, but it doesn’t make her optimistic. 

“I’ll do one bit at a time.” He says, as he pats dry the place he’d just washed. “ – and I’ll be quick.” 

“Whatever.” 

The next time he wipes downwards a few inches, though he stops short of the cut, or at least where she thinks the cut is. Her perception of the back of her body isn’t as acute as she thought it was. 

“So your clan traded honey?” Rakan asks suddenly. 

“…Excuse me?” 

He dunks and wrings out the cloth for a fourth time. 

“You said you used honey for cuts. Did your clan keep bees?” 

_What was this nonsense? Some kind of small talk_ ? Xayah clucks her tongue; foolish, but she can humour him. 

“Some of us farmed natural hives… they were built into certain trees. But it was a family-kept secret how they did it, so I don’t know much more about it.” 

“Wow, I’m jealous. Honey was a rare find for us… not many hives in the mountains. We had to trade for it.” 

“Trade?” 

“Mhm. Mostly with salt, soap, and songs. Though people don’t accept songs usually as payment anymore…” He laughs. “But I always do! They’re valuable. It’s sad that even our long-lived kind can forget their value.” 

“Songs can’t feed a starving family.” Xayah points out. Rakan hums in response. 

“That’s true. But hunger can be on other levels than physical.” 

Xayah scoffs; if he had the liberty to say things, then he probably has never gone hungry. _At least now I understand his fixation with soap_. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t trade in stones. Gems. Minerals, all that.” She flippantly waves her hand. _He was from the mountains, wasn’t he_? She attempts to visualise a map of Ionia in her head. The alpine and highland tribes were quite removed from her tribe’s forest village. 

“Mhmm… sometimes, but usually the Fauswoon had better finds than us, so we didn’t bother.” 

She shivers as he sponges down her lower back. Where the hot water refreshed her, it left her vulnerable to the chill of the cave. 

“You traded dye as well, correct?” He asks. “I recall this really pretty purple dye that we could only get from a forest sister-clan. I think it must have been yours! Cool, huh?” 

Xayah draws a blank. 

She tries to picture her summers as a young fledgling, chasing around her chief father and shirking responsibility. Had some of the families hung out fabric on their lines, vibrant colours pressed from their own hands? 

For the life of her, she can’t recall. They had great access to plants and flowers. It wouldn’t be improbable, but… 

Inexplicably her throat starts to feel tight. 

How much of her own schism of culture would need to be taught to her by an outsider? She had taken so much for granted as a child, ignored lessons her elders had tried to embark to her and now… 

Xayah scrubs at her eyes with the heels of her palms. 

_This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have started thinking about home_ . 

“I’m probably remembering wrong.” Rakan says quickly. ”We were nomadic in the warmer months of the year, so we get around. It could have been any tribe.” 

_Say something. Anything else. It was a mistake to think of a place I can never return to_ . Being wistful for such things only brought up bad memories. 

But Rakan continues washing her in the awkward quiet, perhaps assuming it some form of tact, until Xayah clears her throat. 

“I didn’t know your clan made soap. That explains why you always have so much of it with you.” 

“Yes!” She can practically _hear_ the fresh smile in his voice. “We hunted a lot of big game. If we didn’t eat the fat or bones, we always had _tonnes_ left over for soap. Which is a shame, but soap is a necessity.” 

Xayah’s sure she didn’t mishear. 

“Eat? You’re not joking?” The very idea of biting into a bone or chewing the yellow edges of meat makes her want to gag. All of a sudden Xayah pictures Rakan’s strong, sharp teeth in a different light, and she quivers. 

“Yeah, of course!” Rakan sounds like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You don’t?” 

“I’m not even going to respond to that.” She sniffs; she hears Rakan chuckle. 

The cloth goes back into the pot again. 

“Okay. I’m about to wash over the cut itself, okay? It’s going to sting. Take a deep breath.” 

_Really? The rest was already done_ ? She hadn’t even noticed. Xayah breathes in, clenches her eyes shut and _anticipates._

It’s almost over. After this, she could retreat to her tent and rest. Perhaps tomorrow it’d be healed up enough for her to travel. 

Her whole being feels like it’s about to burst; waiting for the moment. 

Warmth over her, then searing, burning, _spasming_ that goes down her muscles to vibrate her nerves, her bones. She hisses, eyes watering. Dully amongst the stabbing she can feel him lightly sponging over her slash wound, then he squeezes the cloth, dripping water down over it from top to bottom. 

Her body shakes, she grunts as he pats it over with a dry cloth. When he drops the thing away, she sighs with relief. 

“Is it done?” Her voice quivers slightly, and she pinches her thigh. _Stop being a wuss_. 

“The worst is over. You did well.” His voice is soft, gentle. “I have the tumine flowers here. Want them in your wound? Trust me, it’ll help. But only if you want them!” 

At this point, she guesses it doesn’t make much of a difference. He was already there, touching her half-bare. What could a few more seconds do? Though there was a few flaws with this plan. 

“I have no mortar or pestle. How will you grind the medicine? With rocks?” 

Perhaps that could work, if they were patient enough. Grind down the leaves and petals between two flat stones, then if they could get some resin from a spruce tree… they could mix it altogether and perhaps spread it over their cuts. 

“Uhwhm…” 

It sounds like his mouth is full. She turns her head to look over her shoulder at him. He’s chewing aggressively, though his face flushes a bit when she looks at him. 

“Really Rakan?” Her eyes narrow. “Is that safe?” 

_At least he asked first before just doing it_ . 

“Wmorked fwor m’trifb.” He replies unhelpfully. When she continues to stare at him a few seconds longer, uncomprehending, he shoots her a thumbs up. 

Xayah turns back to face the fire, wills her shoulders to relax. 

At this point, she might as well give him the chance. 

“Fine. Go ahead.” She swallows. “I trust your judgement.” 

Then his hand goes flat and he holds it in front of his mouth, like a blocking visor. 

“Can you lie on your stomach? It’ll probably be easier.” He doesn’t sound quite as garbled; if she had to guess he shuffled all the chewed leaves to rest in one puffed out cheek, like some hoarding chipmunk. 

“My stomach?” For a minute she considers leaning down, lying flat on her front, his heavy presence over her, behind her, _easy for him to press down on her back, pin her while she’s helpless and -_

Xayah’s heart picks up its speed double-fold. She’s already shaking her head before she even speaks, rubbing her sweaty palms against her modesty-preserving blanket. 

“No. I’d rather sit.” She says, sending a sharp glare at him first over her shoulder. 

Rakan somehow doesn’t skip a beat. If he noticed her unrest, he doesn’t show it. 

“Up to you. Sitting might be a bit messier…” 

“That’s fine.” She says curtly. 

He only winks. 

“Okay by me! I like a challenge.” 

He takes the bandages and moves them closer within reach. His hands touch her shoulders; Xayah clasps her own hands together on her lap, starts squeezing her fingers tight against each other, interlaced digits blanching white. 

His fingertips are so light she can barely feel them. She hears him move, rustling of his clothes as he shifts in place, then she feels warm breath on her back. Xayah squeezes her eyes shut. 

She doesn’t have to wait long. 

His hands move down first, one framing each side of the slashing cut, pushing very lightly towards each other, as if trying to physically convince the wound to close. There’s a brief tingling she notes, almost an itchy sensation, that is there and fades just as quick. Rakan then makes a small grunt - _of disappointment_? _Annoyance_? But before she can ask what the problem is, something softer is there, two semi-circles pressed feather-light against her skin, placed between both of his encircling hands. Some thick, viscous liquid then drips from there over her spine, seeming even warmer to her than the cleaning water had been. 

Xayah shudders. 

_It’s his lips. He’s applying the poultice directly_ . She feels her cheeks heat up, spreading across her face to boil her ears. _It’s so private… is this really okay_? 

If she concentrates, she thinks she can make out what must be Rakan’s lips, carefully spitting the chewed-up herbs down into her wound. It soothes rather than burns, the opposite of the salt. Where the thick mulch drips into her wound in uneven globs, it dulls the pain of the slash immediately. 

The itchy tingle, then the numbness that follows. It trails its way down the slash, starting at her upper right shoulder blade, then ending at her left flank, just below her tenth rib. 

“It’s done.” He says as his hands finally retreat from her flank. “I tried to heal it, but there’s hardly any magic here to channel. It’s still open to air – do you need me to help bandage too?” He taps at the pile of stripped cloth. 

Xayah blinks. _It’s over, that fast_? She clings the blanket against her front. Bandaging would require at least giving him access under the blanket, if not removing it entirely. 

_Haven’t I relied on him enough_ ? She’s taking too many risks. At some point, it’ll come up not in her favour. 

“I can do it myself. Close your eyes.” She snatches a strip of cloth in both hands, then drops it behind her back, pulling it down like using a piece of floss. Xayah tries to cross the strips over her ribs, then loop it back over her head again for a second layer. 

She’s unsuccessful, the fabric drooping and not tying right. She tries a second time, starting over the opposite shoulder, but gets similar results. 

_It’s no good. It feels loose, and besides, it I don’t even know if I’m covering the cut properly_ . Xayah’s shoulders slump back down. _Again? I have to let him so close, again_? 

Rakan is still sitting behind her, she can hear his tail tapping against the stone floor. 

“Do you need – ?” Rakan starts, tentatively. 

“ – Just do it.” She hisses, fully drops the blanket with a sharp tug of her hands. She feels like a child, unable to care for herself. “Okay? I get it. Just do it. Get it over with.” 

Rakan doesn’t speak, just takes the strips of bandages back. He starts low first, the bottom of her ribcage, holds the end of a strip of cloth and loops it over her abdomen, barely brushing the skin there. She grows restless, her heart stumbling and quivering, her skin not sure whether to run hot or cold. She feels herself sweat as Rakan’s reach goes higher and higher, raising over her ribs, the sternum, spine and finally breasts. 

His hands don’t hesitate over her upper chest, his humming continues, not concerned with her partial nudity. 

He continues to dress her from behind, winding the bandages tight until finally he reaches her collar bones, and ties it neatly over her right shoulder, successfully securing his handiwork. 

“There! All done.” He declares proudly. Xayah rolls her shoulders. _Was that really all_? 

She pulls the blanket back up to rest around her shoulders, as a hollow feeling fills her. _Is he really done with me_? _He’s not going to try anything_? Hope starts to rekindle in her chest, but she stamps it back out. 

Anything could happen still. She can’t let her guard down yet. 

“Can you stand?” Rakan seems slightly paler to her eyes, under-eye shadows darker than a few minutes ago. _Or perhaps it was just a trick of the fire-light_? 

He reaches out a hand again to help her, but she slaps it away once more. She didn’t need it outside climbing the mountain, and she didn’t need it here. 

“Of course!” She snaps without thinking. _He must really think I’m weak._ “This cut is nothing.” 

In fact, it felt much better than what she’d expect from just a cleansing and bandaging. _Had he lied about not being able to channel magic here_? 

“I’m glad~ Are you done with the water then? Cause I wanna wash up.” He smiles sheepishly at her, then places the pot back over the fire to reheat, throws four more splints onto the dying fire. 

Xayah sits, half stunned. Rakan has already shed his shirt and is working on his pants by the time she pushes to her feet and half stumbles into the safety of the tent, lacing shut the tent flaps and diving onto her bedding. 

Was there enough bandages left for him? _His thigh wound_ … She drops her head to rest in her hands. _I didn’t even ask him if he was okay. Had the bleeding been serious_ ? 

Her stomach sinks and she delves deeper into her sleeping bag, hiding her face from open air. 

_I was selfish. I didn’t even think about him_ – 

_Maybe that was the reason he never tried anything? He was too hurt to be bothered_ . 

She presses her head against her thin pillow. _Maybe. Who knows_? 

_I’ve been ruined_ . The events of her life had surrounded her like a brine, turned faith into suspicion, kindness into fear. Love into hate. 

Outside she can hear Rakan’s continued humming, some smooth, slow, ever continuing tune interspersed with sounds of his scrubbing. _Sweet as sap_. 

Xayah curls up as much as her sore back would allow. 

_Maybe I am overthinking this_ . 

She closes her eyes and tries to settle herself to sleep. 

Tomorrow all of this can be put behind them. 

\--=-- 

_Stinging._

_Panting._

_The forest is a blur. The branches are hands, they grab, tear, snag at her clothes, her hair, her skin –_

_Home. I need to get back home._

_Her hands are sticky, red. The same is dried on her dress, her thighs._

_`Dad was right. I never should have left- `_

_Freed from the thick of the forest. Her village is silent; none on the paths, or out in the gardens. There’s smoke in the air, family homes she’s known for centuries are blackened and burning._

_`Dad?`_

_Her home is empty. Sharp shards of their pots and plates are on the floor, pieces of broken furniture scattered about._

_‘Dad!!?’ She calls again, but her cries get no response._

_No blood, no bodies. Nothing. All vanished._

_Gone._

_Back outside, their shrine looks like someone has taken a hammer to it, chunks smashed out of its delicate shaping. A large crimson crystal hovers over the shrine, small flecks of light rise from the earth to sink into the spinning stone._

_It shatters like any other crystal to her newfound skill._

_But her village is still empty. Xayah stands amongst the smoke and destruction. She’s numb. Empty._

__

_Alone_ . 

=-=-----= 

Her face is wet. A familiar, if still unpleasant, thing to wake up to. Xayah shudders, rolls up onto her stomach. The feeling of suffocation abates as she comes back to reality; _this night, this cave, this heat_. It’s like the emotions of the previous few years have all been concentrated into a single shot, her heart experiencing the raw rush of hope, fear, loss, and anger all within the course of two seconds. It runs through her like a lightning bolt, setting her entire being alight before fading away, an explosive pop leaving only darkness, a feeling of numbness behind it. 

_Why am I so upset_ ? She rubs her face in a blanket, pulling down her cheeks while choking back a half-laugh. 

_It’s over, it’s already happened. I’ve been living this for years now. Why should I be so upset?_

Slowly Xayah wiggles free of the sleeping bag. Hugging the blankets gives no reprieve. 

She stretches – then full stops half-way through the action before remembering her injury. The tug on her muscles only feels a little tight; any further pulling would surely break the scabs, she would think, and quickly relaxes her shoulders back. 

It’s not nearly as bad as it had been a few hours ago. Even with their fast healing… perhaps There had been something to that poultice after-all, crude as it had been. 

_Would Dad have known about that plant_ ? 

She blinks; the burning in her eyes remains. She goes to sit up and her vision swims; a new pang in her lower abdomen twisting tight into a constant, throbbing pain. Xayah drops back down onto her bedroll, waiting for the spots in her vision to fizzle away. 

There’s that feeling again. She feels dirty, like the mud from yesterday was still coating her, like there’s something bone-deep she can never remove. Sweat soaks her thin clothes, dampens her hair. _How am I so warm_?? 

Xayah squirms, rubs her cheeks against the blanket. Tremors run through her as she turns side to side in her bed-sheets, unable to settle. 

Nothing was comfortable. It was too early to get up, it’s dark as pitch, and when she listens closely she can still hear sleet plinking against the outer shell of the cave. 

_This feeling… No. No no no_ . _Not now. Not here. It’s been so long since her last_ … _I thought the injuries would manage to delay it_. _They always have in the past_. 

Xayah curls up onto her side and lets out a sob. 

_What is going to happen to me if Rakan finds out_ ? 

She gasps between her whimpering, hardly able to take in more than a shallow breath at a time. She’s alone in this, she was going to have to cope with this by herself, just like that time a year ago. 

But there’s no abandoned home she can sequester herself in, where she can sing the trees to form a barricade. Where she could hide away in a restless, crying haze; too hot, too cold, too scared, too _lonely_. 

There was no _Rakan_ a year ago. 

“Xayah?” 

A soft voice probes from outside her tent. 

“Are you okay?” 

She goes shock still. There’s nowhere to hide but back inside her bedroll. Xayah drops her head back onto the pillow, barely dares to breathe; perhaps he’d think she was asleep. 

The rustling of knots pulling free. The tent flap opens; she hears him step inside, the soft sounds of leather-material dropping back in place. 

She holds her position for at least half a minute, skin burning under his gaze, a godly effort not to quiver. 

“Would you like some company?” He asks, “I know you’re awake.” 

There’s no point in continuing to pretend. Xayah shakily sits up, half hunched, and shoots him a scathing glare. His nostrils flare – she frowns. _There’s no way he doesn’t know_. 

“Get out!” 

“Xayah, I – “ 

She manages to summon a single feather dagger out of the air, aims it towards his throat. She hopes he doesn’t notice her fingers quaking. 

Rakan’s face is haggard, for once his hair and feathers not perfectly styled and coiffed. 

“Please – I want to help. “ 

“I don’t need your _help_.” The kind of help he had to offer was the kind she needed least. _I know what he wants, to pin me down and tear off my clothes.._. She is at least knowledgeable enough to not get taken advantage of during this time, while she was weak. 

Rakan keeps his eyes locked on her, then sits down. 

“I know you’re scared – ” 

“ – I’m not!” 

He scoots a little closer towards her, his face is straight-laced, looking much calmer than she felt, not fearful of her knife – or at least not showing it. 

“I said to get out! I’ll – I’ll - !” She raises her dagger. The blade is unsteady, slipping in her sweaty fingers. 

_He hadn’t tried anything yesterday, when it was easiest. Nor over the last season. Maybe… just maybe_ … 

She can see the bandages on his leg through the cut in his pants. Her ears droop down, and she lowers her dagger. 

Rakan scoots forward again until his knees knock up against hers. Xayah balks, flinches back. 

“Wh-what are you - ?” 

Rakan is as soft as his sentiment. 

“Want to chat? I can go boil some tea.” 

“I – “ She gapes, groping for words that won’t come. _Does she ask him to leave, or to stay_? She doesn’t trust her own voice; her life and memories had crept out of her shadows to choke her, leaving her ultimately a broken song-bird. 

_Maybe he only heard me crying. Maybe he doesn’t know about my… condition._ She thinks desperately _. He just wants to talk about my composure breaking. Perhaps he doesn’t want to follow me anymore?_

_If he leaves_ … The thought paralyses her. _Alone again_. She hadn’t travelled with him long. _How did it get to this point so fast_? 

_I’m weak. Weak and desperate_ . Disgust rises in her fast, temporarily overriding her fear. 

In lieu of her silence, Rakan assumes his own answer. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” 

Rakan stands with an efforted grunt, pushing mainly with his hands, limps a few steps towards the tent’s opening. 

She lets him leave, stares blankly at the closed tent flap. There’s a soft humming while he works that she can hear, the crackling and popping of a new fire and clicking of their pottery. 

She could get up and lace the tent closed again, for what good it would do. There is no way to lock him out – _perhaps we should have went to a human town after all_. 

He does return eventually, with their kettle and his pack in one hand, and his bedroll and blankets under his free arm. The bedroll he drops at his feet, half a foot away from her own, and then their packs between them. 

Gingerly lowers himself to the ground with one arm, the other reaching out with the kettle to carefully set it onto the ground. Before she can blink he has both of their cups out of his pack and filled with the hot tea. 

“Here. No sugar, right?” 

Xayah takes it wordlessly, still half-stunned. _What is he planning_ ? 

“How’s your back?” He asks first. It brings her attention back to her own tired aching body. Still, it had improved ten-fold after he had bandaged it, and even though it’d been only a few hours since then, it feels almost good as new. If she stretches too far she notes a tugging soreness, but it didn’t feel worse than if it had just been from exercising. 

“Fine. How is your leg?” She winces at how awkward she sounds, though at least now she can find it in herself to speak. Her mouth is dry -she blows at the steaming tea on her lap. 

“Can’t even feel it!” He grins. Somehow it doesn’t really reassure her. 

“I’m glad.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She clears her throat and looks back down at the cup. 

Rakan, to his credit, only pauses a moment. He scratches his chin, ears flicking as he looks upwards at the ceiling. 

“Xayah, do you need anything? Rags for bleeding? Food you’re craving? Extra blankets?” 

Her previous, fragile hope shatters. 

“What… What do you mean? Are you asking about my wound?” She forces a laugh. “I told you, it’s doing fine.” 

_He knows. A hundred-percent, he knows_ . Xayah feels her heart rate pick up, pulse fluttering in her ears, she feels herself start to tense up, a coil just waiting to spring, her fingers itching once more for a knife. _Is it really safe_? _Should I do something_? 

_Those men, back then. They had somehow known too. That I was in ‘season_ .’ 

Rakan scratches the back of his neck. 

“Did you have a spring festival about this stuff? Y’know, about your body, courting, romance, your heat and all that?” 

“Uhhh – “ _Where was he going with this_? Her eyes narrow, but he continues talking even with her skepticism. She speaks before he can interrupt; “Yes of course. In the fall.” Though the last time she got to experience that festival she had been barely a teen. 

“So you know all about these things?” He pushes again. He hasn’t moved from his spot, yet she’s starting to feel claustrophobic, like the world is closing in on herself, the walls of her tent too dense and too close. 

She gawks, tries to gather her panicking thoughts. It had been so long ago… _back in Korpvei’ne Kyla. Mother died long before she could teach me… Dad was too awkward._

Older women in the village had promised to teach her when she was ready, but all she had really gleaned was that heats had to do with making babies, _and men… had something that they did… something with_. She can’t even think the word without feeling dirty. 

Gnawing her lower lip, Xayah flounders for a response. _I know nothing, not really. When I travelled alone it wasn’t really needed_ . 

Other than the basics, like avoiding everyone – _especially men_ – while pre-heat and heat proper, she couldn’t say she knew why, or the dynamics of such. 

“Of course - of course I know. I’m not a child.” Xayah huffs. 

“That’s good.” Rakan smiles warmly then leans back slightly more onto his arms. “Then let me know if you need anything.” 

“I don’t.” She insists, lays the now empty cup of tea off to the side. She takes a few moments to recollect herself, clears her throat and asks; “Our festival was boring. Tell me about yours.” 

“It was huge in _Riinkusu-kyla_.” He grins, eyes twinkling at some fond memories, some of his twitchiness smoothing away. “We had lots of games and sports. My favourite is _Lesh-medni_.” 

Xayah looks at him blankly. Rakan continues. 

“Ah…. Feather-swap – no, feather hunters? Is a close translation.” 

“Never heard of it.” Xayah says stiffly. 

“Oh it’s the _best_! You split boys and girls up into teams, each team picks a colour. Then you pluck one of your feathers out and put it into your belt or pants. Then both sides have to try to steal each other’s feathers. Team that gets all of the enemy’s feathers first wins – oh, and if you lose your feather, you’re out. It’s real fun.” 

“That’s all you do?” 

“No, but that one’s my favourite.” 

Xayah refills her cup for sake of something to do, cradles it between her hands. _Why is he telling me this? Useless information_. 

“Your whole festival is games?” She asks skeptically. She’s starting to feel a bit light-headed. Sipping the tea only reminds her further of the heat spreading through her from head to toe. 

“Well, no. The games go until everyone’s too… err, distracted to continue.” 

_Distracted_ . Xayah squirms in spot, pushes her groin against the ground. 

“Then what?” She hugs across her torso with her free arm. _I can only guess what wild stuff they did.._. _Did they trade partners around like commodities_? _Did the girls have a clear choice_? 

“Some of the older juvies pair off. But the younger ones separate again based on sex and go hang out. The boys mostly play-fight – “ He laughs, “ – or _real_ fight, I guess. There’s bets placed on where the girls are hidden. But mostly, there’s competitions to find and prank who-ever paired off. In turn, they try to find better places to hide every year.” 

He sighs fondly. “I hoped one day to get pranked by a youngster looking to be put in his place. But unfortunately… my generation was one of the last ones to experience it at its peak glory.” 

“What happened?” _Did he experience a genocide too_? She’d never asked, she realises with slight shame, so perhaps he too had a hidden loss. _Perhaps all his smiling and joking and singing came was a mask for his grief_ ? 

Rakan shrugs, takes another dreg of tea. His tone is almost too jovial, considering the subject. “Same that is happening everywhere. My tribe is very sensitive to these things. We had to relocate.” 

“Then you should hate humans too.” Xayah insists _. Does he just not care_? “Why do you dance and sing for them? Share wine and brighten their festivals?” 

“They _are_ animals.” He agrees, “but they live such short-lives… it’s not their fault they cannot see the big picture. The things they say and think… It’s fascinating! Imagine, only living fifty years?! They barely learn how to speak and then they’re in the ground.” Rakan chuckles. “No wonder they can’t understand us.” 

“Time is relative.” Xayah insists, tone becoming more forceful, a burning mood taking her hostage. “They can comprehend fine. They _choose_ not to. Right and wrong… it doesn’t exist to them. They take what they want, they kill who they want! They don’t deserve the land they live on. Humans exist only to defile everything they touch.” She roughly plunks the empty cup onto the floor with a clatter. 

“Xayah – “ Rakan starts as if to placate her, but she whips up her hand, and he abruptly silences. 

“ –They took everything from me; my home, my family, my childhood, my _culture_. I _believed_ in our ability to co-exist, to share this land as friends, and – and – “ 

She pauses; chest heaving. Rakan is watching her, silent as the grave. He doesn’t even dare to move. When she finally speaks, the words drop like stones, feeling weighted beyond their worth. 

“ – They ruined me.” 

Abruptly she feels exhausted. She’s deflated; she just wants to curl up somewhere dark, and sleep for a hundred years. Maybe if she’s lucky, the earth will collapse and she’ll be free from this burden, self-inflicted as it is. 

_If I give up, those lost will not find peace_ . 

This is her life now, her world. Like it or not, she accepted this challenge. It’s her fate, to wage this war until she’s inevitably killed for it. 

A hand covers hers. Xayah jolts; looks back at Rakan with wide eyes. The pressure is light on her own, though he presses in with his thumb and rubs lightly against the junction where her wrist meets her hand. 

“Don’t ever say that. You are stronger because of your struggles.” 

“You don’t understand.” She shakes her head, “I’ll never be that girl ever again.” 

That hope and curiosity, that excitement for the future… she doubts she’ll ever get it back, even if she lives to see her rebellion succeed. Her heart had withered away long ago, a hate-fueled husk of an organ propelling her forward. Seeing Rakan and his dance those months ago had only reminded her again of what she had lost. 

“Maybe not. But that’s okay! We can’t stay the same forever. Chaos, change, that’s part of life. We bend with magic, or it breaks us. You’re strong – that’s how you’ve made it this far.” 

“I don’t know.” She says. “Maybe.” 

Her stomach clenches tight again; a mix of butterflies and heavy stones, and she tries not to wince, falling silent. 

_It made me weaker_ . This she knows. A spiderweb of thin cracks across a stone statue, just waiting for the strike that can trigger it all to shatter. 

Xayah snaps out of her thoughts as Rakan’s hand withdraws and he struggles back to his feet. 

“Wait! Stay!” Xayah leaps to her knees and grabs him by the wrist. “Don’t leave.” 

She’s friable, fraying at the seams. _What was he good for, at this point_? 

He tilts his head, staring her down. She grits her teeth, and pulls harder, and this time he follows the pull down, gingerly dropping back onto the ground. Once on the floor she pulls him nearer, and sits a moment, fuming, still holding onto his hand. Rakan seems puzzled, but he sits still, waiting uncharacteristically patiently for whatever she’s planning. 

It’s semi-calloused and strong, so much bigger than her own. 

This in-between, this dusk between trust and not-trust, she can hardly stand it. In bated anticipation she waits for his ultimate betrayal. _Isn’t it best for him to just do it, get it over with? Better now, than a year from now, or three years from now_ . If it was inevitable, was it not better to do it now rather than later? 

Rip the bandages off, so that the wound will heal quicker. That’s the best course of action. 

Xayah takes a deep breath, steels herself as she moves to sit, facing Rakan. With one swift movement she climbs onto his lap, places one hand against each side of his face, and pulls his face down to meet hers. 

She gets close. Her lips are but a few centimeters away from meeting his when he rears his head back. Frowning, she chases his lips further, pulling harder down at his retreating form, until his resistance is too strong for her to force. Then she slides her hands down to rest on his shoulders instead, and leans in, face burning shame-fully from rejection but doubly determined. 

“Xayah?” He asks, but she ignores him, pressing her lips against his neck and forcing herself to move against him, laying cold kisses over his throat. 

_Any moment now, any second and he’d_ – 

His hands return to rest on her shoulders, and gently but firmly pushes her off of him, lifting her off his lap to sit back on the bedroll. Rejection stings at her core, her elbows pull in and press against her sides, she bites her lip as her vision blurs. 

_Does he know about years ago, somehow? Is it obvious? His flirting all just a game then, a joke to play_ . He knows, her inner voice sneers, _he knows you’re ruined, dirty. Damaged. Even in heat you’re unappealing_ . 

She starts to pull back, turns away from him. A curdling nausea rising in her belly, she wants hide someplace small, curl up and hug herself until she starves. 

A hand drops to again slide atop her own. Despite her better judgement she flicks around to glare at him, though she doesn’t yet tug free. 

_Did any of that even happen? Or maybe he’s pretending I didn’t try to force myself onto him_ . At the moment, she’s not sure if it makes things better or worse. 

“What?” She snaps. 

Even in the dark, she can make out his signature blue brighter than the sky. 

“Xayah… you don’t need to force yourself. I respect you too much to let you do this before you’re ready.” 

“What are you talking about? I _know_ what I want. Of course I’m ready.” 

“Still we should talk about it first.” He insists, and he slides their fingers together, weaving them more securely together. “This is something you should enjoy, not rush. It’s not supposed to be scary.” 

“I’m not scared!” Xayah squeezes his fingers hard enough to make it hurt, but he doesn’t react. 

“You were shaking a lot for someone who wasn’t scared.” He remarks. He doesn’t sound harsh, tone not mocking. She bristles all the same. 

“What do you know?” She snaps back. 

Rakan is sitting a metre from her, leaning back on his elbows, giving space even while their hands are connected. _An easy target, if need be_. He’s so much bigger than herself; it’s something she usually can ignore, dismiss to the back of her mind, but with him sprawled out next to her like this it’s impossible to not acknowledge. 

Her head barely reaches his collarbones _. Yet, even still_ – 

The small tent was minuscule for this giant; him lying straight would have his feet or head catch against the leather-enforced fabric. Shadows dance behind him on the wall of the tent, their rekindled cook fire slowly dying back away. Soon they’d be sent back into the murk. 

Rakan tilts his head slightly, then scratches his chin. 

“I know it should be nice. _Exciting_. Making love is supposed to feel _good_. Though sometimes it can be scary - if you’re worried about it being really special with someone you really care about. You know?” He smiles softly. 

_Pleasure_ ? She thinks of dirty, rough hands, sharp nails, digging into her breasts, her stomach, yanking at her ears. Overheard gossip from Barmaids, seamstresses and ladies of the night all complaining about obligations, of expectation, to grit your teeth and think of somewhere else; while men laugh, cupping steins of drink, saying that women that are only worth enough trouble for a quick poke. Other times, wandering through towns at night, she’d hear high-pitched cries, and then guttural laughs; unfortunate souls caught by hungry wolves. 

“I’ve never heard that.” She insists. “You grin and bear it. Someone always has the short end of the stick. A means to an ends.” 

“Sometimes. But that’s why you need to talk about it first. I don’t want you to regret anything. You’re in no condition to consent right now. Not to anything serious, at least.” He hums. 

“That’s my choice.” She protests. 

Rakan nods his head. 

“ – As well as mine.” 

Xayah huffs, turns her head away, tenses her jaw. 

Rakan looks at her thoughtfully a moment, then squeezes her hand a final time before he pulls away. She shoots him a questioning glance. It seems he gets possessed by some busy spirit, as he starts rearranging his bedroll, fluffing their two small pillows and shaking out blankets before placing them again back into a peculiar pile. He arranges and rearranges until both their bedrolls are next to each other, and everything else creates a rounded, comfy nest. 

The pit in her stomach grows when she realises. 

_Oh, he’s making it comfortable for us_ . _I guess he changed his mind_. 

He flops over then with a light groan, taking his time to roll himself over the bedding before patting the spot beside him and gesturing for her to join. 

She sits a moment longer, staring him down. _Was this it, this was him finally accepting her advance_? He seems almost _too_ still, uncharacteristically patient. _He’s not going to come to me, he’s waiting for me to make the first move_ . 

She shifts in place, looks down at her lap. 

_Why does he look so sad_ ? 

Xayah swallows. Wipes her eyes against her night-shift. The tension lingers in the space between them, even though it was only a few feet. 

She creeps the last few inches, stiffly lays atop his torso and drops into his arms. Her face presses against his shoulder as she tentatively slides her arms around his back, holding it there under his bright, peacock-y feathers with the lightest of pressures. 

“Can I place my arms on your back now?” Rakan asks. 

His chest rumbles as he talks. She flushes, pushes her face harder against him. She can’t bring herself to try to seduce him again, even though she attempts to build up the courage. She shakes lightly, tries to suppress it. _Is now the time? For Rakan to reveal his true colours_. 

“Y-yeah. For a few seconds, I guess.” She says. 

His arms draw together even slower than hers had; they lace around to hug around her mid-back, pressing in firmly, but not restrictive. 

_He’s warm, so warm… but it’s different than my own heat. Rakan is large and sturdy, broad yet gentle. It feels like_ … 

Memories she’d banished for years, of subconscious safety and peace flood her mind, and tears well up in her eyes once again. Rakan makes some kind of warbling sound, a kind of questioning chirrup, and her very lungs shudder, shrinking her in and making her feel small. She yanks away, shoulders drawing in, returns to hugging her own arms. Rakan releases her easily, and she slips back onto her own space. 

_I’m so weak_ . 

Where he had touched her, it felt good, _welcome_ , even. Though she thought it would be the opposite. Whether that be a part of her condition or something else, she isn’t sure. Yet at the same time… she feels unsteady, as if she’s balanced precariously atop a towering pole, her stomach tightened hard as a rock. Xayah draws her knees back up, clings to those instead, and quivers. 

Rakan’s face is still stricken with some soft sympathy. 

“Do you want to lie down? I can still stay.” He offers, “but I don’t mind leaving if you need me to. Or I can sit outside and guard you.” 

“I – “ Xayah starts, but immediately trails off. 

_I don’t know what I want_ . Her whole body feels cold now in absence of him, and she senses that familiar unrest in her bones, this lonesome desire to hold something. _Anything_ to cure the empty feeling, even when fear prickles her skin, winds her nerves tight as twine. 

“Let’s lie down. Alright? I have an idea.” He coaxes, takes a singular blanket and holds it up. He gestures her over, the blanket still held outwards. Xayah tilts her head slightly, but slowly crawls over to join him in the center of the nest. He wraps the blanket over her and tucks her in, then does the same with a second and third, the blankets an effective barrier between the two of them. 

“Here you go. Feeling any better?” He asks, then tucks it extra tight. “I’ve been told by girls growing up that this was helpful.” Xayah squirms slightly, is reminded of a caterpillar snug in a cocoon. It’s close to being held, _close_ but not quite. Almost, but not quite enough a good enough substitute. 

_More. More_ . It’s still not the same. 

She squirms backwards, rolls until she’s mostly unwrapped herself. 

“Rakan – this isn’t…” 

“Okay, sorry, sorry~” He hums in an attempt to soothe her. “What would you like?” 

“Ah – “ Her face heats up, and she averts her eyes, worries her bottom lip. “Maybe… hold me again. Please.” 

Rakan doesn’t speak but they both shuffle to reposition. Xayah grabs her pillow and half-hides her face into the scratchy fabric, flipping to rest back on her right side. Then, there’s movement, presence getting stronger as he cautiously moves to press against her back. His body lines hers like two puzzle-pieces meeting, though the blankets lessened the effect. 

“Want my arms around you?” He asks; his breath is hot against her neck. Xayah worries her lip, ignores the voice in her head telling her to turn around and try to nip him. 

“Ye-yeah. Please. You can hold me tight, if you want.” 

“Okay. You’re the boss.” Rakan murmurs; then she feels the weight of his arm drop over her, one sliding under the pillow and the other draping over her waist. After a few seconds he tugs her into him sharply, and her whole body tenses – though it only takes a few moments to try to calm herself back down again. 

Her heart is racing in her chest, fluttering too fast to even count. She measures her breaths, forces her breathing into a facsimile of relaxation. _Rakan won’t hurt me_ – she insists over and over, but the niggling of doubt remains. 

Even still, she knows he’s holding back. 

“…Doin’ okay?” Rakan relocates so his chin brushes against the top of her head. 

“Mhm.” 

“Want my wing over you too?” 

She swallows. 

“Yeah.” She can’t trust herself to vocalise more than that. 

Rakan moves again, his wing-cloak large enough to wrap about them both, then he fidgets and reaches around to pull the last of their blankets up to their necks. Xayah frees one of her arms from her blanket wrappings, and his hand traces down to shyly lace back into hers. 

The feelings like before rush back, and Xayah’s thankful that he’s behind her. She shoves her face farther into the pillow. 

_Why does it feel so easy? So nice? It’s not fair. For so long… Dad… what do you think of me now? Would you even recognise me_ ? 

She sniffles. 

_Once. Just once. I can allow it for tonight only. This is an exception, just for the circumstances_ … 

Rakan’s chest rumbles as he hums, vibrations rolling through her entire being. It soothes somehow rather than startles, his comfy aura contagious. She nudges back timidly against him; is rewarded by him curling slightly more over her like an eave overhangs the wall of a home, turning so slightly more weight rests upon her. 

It’s not restrictive; if anything it’s _grounding._

_Past the uncertainty, past those long years alone_ . The men that had grabbed her, pushed down on her back with their knees, held her still as she panicked, as she begged and cried until she had to tarnish her soul with murder… how is it that it can feel so different now? The comfort she had yearned for back then, for the arms of someone _safe_ which had been denied to her for so long - 

_I’m weak. Still so cowardly, to be feeling like this now_ . 

Tears well up once more, the leak in the dam only starting to trickle free. Xayah turns her face further into the pillow, though the hiccoughing sobs that shake her core could not be so easily hidden. It’s like she had been trapped in a dark cave for decades, unknowing, acceptant, and only now through some cruel trick been reminded of the existence of the light. 

Rakan doesn’t speak; only squeezes her hand, and where their fingers are clasped together she feels that familiar sting of hope. It hurts worse than her back. 

It’s easier now, than the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that. Extending back until that faithful night she returned home to find her whole world destroyed. It crashes over her like a tsunami, but Rakan holds her steady, his encircling arms closing in to hug her properly. Xayah loses track of whether it was one hour or five, but she cries until the pain of the past has been washed out of her song and leaves her feeling hollow and exhausted. The hurt is still there; the memories still raw, but she’s too drained to spare any more tears, her head throbbing with a stress headache, her eyes itchy and puffy. 

Even Rakan seems to sense the worst has passed; he stirs enough to give a genial squeeze, and softly asks; 

“…Wanna talk about it?” 

He sounds doubting, even here in the dark, and she can’t blame him for such sentiment. Still, it irks her how aware he is, even after such a short time together. _He reads me better than he lets on_. 

“Tomorrow.” Xayah quietly promises, though she knows in her heart that this pledge will never come to pass, and she knows he realises this too. She finally closes her eyes with a slow, shuddering sigh. _By tomorrow this will all be just a dream_. She feels sodden, weighed down by bags of sand, and some gut feeling tells her she’ll be able to sleep well tonight. 

Rakan doesn’t reply at first, body relaxing back around her, a living cushion. He shuffles and shifts, finally settling with his cheek resting against the crown of her head. Xayah is drifting off, barely conscious when she finally hears him start to lowly sing flowing lyrics in a language no longer spoken, the tune deeply nostalgic. 

_Maybe I’m not alone anymore, after all_ . 

For the first time in a mortal decade, Xayah sleeps without dreams. 


	2. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to chapter two. Between the time chapter one was posted and now, Riot has rewritten Xayah and Rakan's Biographies (without knowledge of their original creators, Matt and Odin) to completely erase all of Xayah's trauma and Rakan's nuance. Now Xayah is a one dimensional, sociopathic war criminal and Rakan has become a dolt with no will of his own, (and is somehow also a blood traitor, lol). 
> 
> All of this made me so upset I was going to stop writing for the birds entirely, literally take everything off a03. But then I realised I shouldn't give up! Now Riot said that none of their original lore was _changed_ , the bios were just updated for "clarity". But that's a **big doubt from me.** With the changes, new fans can no longer read or access the original biographies, which basically means all of it might as well be retconned, and fans would have no way of knowing about it unless informed by older fans or from older fic/art.
> 
> All of Xayah's characterisation is gone: Her trust issues, her fear of opening up just to lose again, her reason to distrust humans, her displacing her anguish of losing her father and village into fueling the rebellion... all of it gone. Now she is simply a villian mad about humans using magic, okay with indirectly killing hundreds of innocent humans (as per the new short story). Good job rito.
> 
> Now I could go on more but I won't do it here.
> 
> .
> 
>  **If you want to read the flowchart/tweet I made regarding this see here:** https:// twitter.com/Scrumpadouchus1/status/1280603832939163658 
> 
> **If you want to read the original bios, they are here:** https:// docs.google.com/document/d/18HGVOuvCLyB30-ls-7egyh4TCrxrATHnqaW_0KXtmDo/edit 
> 
> [as always, remove the space between the http:// and the beginning of the url when you paste into your browser]  
> At some point I will go through the old and new bios and compare them via power-point sentence by sentence and really break down what the connotations and consequences of the changes mean, and when that it is done I will link it here and in every future work.
> 
> **TLDR, screw the changes, we're running with the old lore.**
> 
> ****  
> **  
> **
> 
> Thank you if you've read this far!!! Now, please enjoy the fluff of chapter 2.

\------------------------------

  


Next thing she knows, chirping of songbirds echoes through the cave. Xayah stirs, presses her ears into the pillow. 

_Too loud_ . 

She rolls over in the bedding and brings up against a warm, solid, form, then startles awake immediately. 

_Oh, yes. Rakan_ . 

Her face flashes hot as she recalls the night previous, and her ears flick low. 

He’s still asleep, mouth opening and drooling onto his side of the pillow. She sinks back down, presses forward against him. Rakan moves slightly to tug her back to him, mumbling a sleepy line of gibberish. 

She can stay like this a little longer. 

The stirring of her heart remains light, ataraxic for the time being, washed clean from last night’s catharsis. Still, she’d no way of knowing if that’s temporary, something that would flee the moment she went back to the outside world. _A good night’s sleep does wonders_ , maybe. Xayah stares at his face, fingers itching to reach out and touch. She stops herself when her hand was only inches away. 

_Would he mind_ ? It would be contradictory for her touch him without asking, considering how considerate he was the night before. 

_Knowing Rakan, so open, so affectionate, he’d probably be okay with something as simple as this_ . She bites her tongue; Maybe _I’ve become too familiar, after only one night_. _We hardly know each other, we’re barely friends._

She waits one more moment, then closes the gap. She cups both cheeks, draws her thumbs across his cheekbones, high and sharp. 

Her fingers trace down, trails over the dips of his mouth. When her fingertips touch his lips, they slightly part. _So soft_. 

There’s a flutter of the eyelids. Xayah shrinks back, shuts her eyes and drops her hands back to her chest. Feigning sleep as he fidgets and readjusts. Xayah’s stomach twists, but she remains still. Eventually he settles back to sleep. Xayah counts the seconds in her head, waits five full minutes before daring to move again. 

Now. She feels brave. _He’s a heavy sleeper_. If it were herself, she’d have jumped awake in a second, maybe lashed out with a knife for good measure. She slides her arms back around his torso, tries to nudge herself back into his hold. 

Tucked back in place, she’s no longer being gripped as tight. She frowns. 

_Maybe if I squeeze him he’ll do it back instinctively_ ? 

She hugs in hard, hears a squeaky peeping sound, almost like a _meep_. 

Xayah looks up. Rakan appears to still be asleep. While watching his face she squeezes again, as hard as she can manage. He makes the sound again. Xayah bites her lip to stop her giggle. _So cute_. 

She does it a final time, and finally Rakan’s arms pull around her again, squishing her back against his chest, and she purrs with satisfaction. 

_Success_ . 

Closing her eyes, she resumes sleepily drifting, floating in the haze between wakefulness and unconsciousness in their warm nest. 

She’s not sure how much time passes but she’s brought back to alertness when Rakan grunts, stretches, then slowly pulls away as he sits up. 

_Where was he going so early_ ? She feels a rush of sadness, then annoyance at herself chases soon after. _Why does it matter? We aren’t anything. Last night we didn’t do anything_ . 

Xayah lies and waits a minute longer, then stretches in an exaggerated fashion, kicking out her legs and sitting up. 

“Where are you going?” She tries to sound nonchalant, though the rapid thrumming of her heart says otherwise. 

Rakan perks up, flicking around to face her immediately. 

“Ah – good morning.” He scratches his chin. “I was going to go hunt.” 

“Hunt? Why?” She shakes her head. _What about his leg_? “We’ve got enough to last us.” 

“You don’t want something fresh?” He looks back and forth between her and the exit. 

_Maybe he really was just looking for an excuse to leave_ . _Did I make him uncomfortable_? Xayah looks down at the blankets, starts smoothing out the creases. 

“If you want to go, you can go.” 

He drops back to their nest, flops next to her with a sloppy grin. 

“Whatever you want. I’m happy with our rations if you are.” 

Xayah squints at him. There was no hint of dishonesty, but Rakan works in mysterious ways. This creeping warmth reminded her of its presence once again, and her shoulders hunch up, her feathers prickling. Contact had become a physical need to her now, foolish as it was. 

His voice goes softer. 

“How do you feel this morning?” 

“Better.” 

“Is your back still hurting you?” 

She shakes her head. If anything, it felt like the wound wasn’t even there anymore. “Want to check?” She turns and pulls up her night gown, revealing her back. A second after she does it the quickness of her reaction near startles her. 

It’s easier to do than it was yesterday, but her heart still quickens. Fingers lightly pull at the bandages, and they peel off without any pain. 

“You’re mostly healed!” He announces proudly. “The tumine worked.” 

_Healed? Really_ ? 

Vastaya healed much faster than humans, were sturdier and more resistant to illness and injury naturally. But this area was like a spiritual desert, he could hardly imagine the sword wound taking less than four days to heal. 

“That’s amazing.” She stretches; and indeed, the action doesn’t send pain running through her like before. Only a slight stiffness to her muscles remain. 

“Shall I wash it down again?” He offers. His fingers trail lightly over the incision, sending that sun-shiny, tingly feeling right through her. “It’s scabbed over now. It might not even scar.” 

“Did it bleed a lot?” _What else would he be washing away_? 

“No… it’s just the poultice is messy.” He chuckles a little, scratches his cheek. “It’s dried all over your back where the bandages were. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologise. We knew it’d be messy.” 

“I’ll get more water for us. I’ll be quick.” 

He pushes himself back up, hobbles out of the tent into the cave proper too fast to be stopped. Pouting, Xayah rolls in the blankets listlessly and waits for his return. _The blankets smell nice_. Earthy and sweet, like trees and cocoa. She shoves her face into a quilt and inhales. _Smells like Rakan_. It surrounds her, a clinging hug of comfort. 

She rolls around in the sheets a few minutes longer, then bored of the spectacle, she adjusts her night-slip and crawls out into the cave proper. 

The sun leaks through the opening of the cave, the outside sparkling from freezing rain. Her breath fogs outside the tent, the cold of the morning hitting her like a wall. _A cold snap up in this mountain?_ She could only hope it warms later with the sun. 

Rakan squats next to their cookfire, eyes glazed with a thousand-yard stare. Their small pot is bubbling with boiled water, steam rising up and fading into the air. _Is he seeing something I cannot? Hearing something I cannot?_

Xayah squints out into the sparkling day, but sees nothing of note. She shakes Rakan by the shoulder. 

“Hey. You okay?” 

He comes back to reality rather suddenly, yawning and rubbing a hand over his eyes, scrubbing at the dark shadows there like the action could banish them from his skin. 

“Ah~ sorry. I’m just a little tired still.” 

She looks at her feet. _I kept him up all night. It’s my fault_. 

Back outside, everything glitters. Its early still, it would all melt once the sun rose higher. She could almost _hear_ the satisfying crunch of their feet through the frost. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be too wise to venture out today either. She walks to the mouth of the cave and peeks out. 

Still no signs of life other than them. There’s birdsong she can hear that echoes down through the hills, but she cannot see any soaring across the sky. No rabbit tracks, no deer foraging for their morning grass. Everything is still iced over, not cracked and downtrodden. She scoots back to the welcome heat of the fire. 

“What about your leg?” 

His spare pants have shadowing where she remembers the wound being yesterday _. Did he not wrap it? Maybe he was out of bandages_. 

Xayah sits next to him, takes the pot off the fire. The entire cave is filled with the happy cresting warmth from the flames, the same heavy against her skin. 

“It’s okay – “ he insists, sets aside enough of the water into their teapot for tea, but drops the rest of their cloths into the water. 

“ – No, it’s not.” She gestures down at his pants. “Take them off.” 

“Wh – what?” 

_If he won’t do it, then I will have to_ . 

Xayah bites her lip, places both hands on his pants and starts to tug them down herself. He grabs her wrists firmly, but not roughly. His voice is gentle. 

“I thought we talked about this last night.” 

Xayah’s face flashes hotter than the flames. _Last night_ … part of her wants to banish it from her mind. 

“No you doofus, it’s not for… for that. Your wound! I need to see it.” 

“My…” 

“Just!! Just pull down your pants. _Please._ ” She stares at him pleadingly, and he relents, scooching back in order to pull down his pants down until they reach his knees. She sees a quick flash of his loincloth before she trains her eyes away; _sky blue in colour_. 

Her eyes itch with the want to drift, almost peek to the side towards his core. _It’s forbidden._ She sets her shoulders and stares more pointedly at his thigh wound. 

The bandages are wet, dark blood with spots oozing a yellowish green. The wound edges look almost soggy, waterlogged, pale even compared to the rest of his skin. _What had happened_? 

“You still have salt?” She asks. That queer salt scrub he had tucked away in his backpack. It had helped her, why wouldn’t it help him? 

She reaches into his pack without further questions, rummages through the random bits and baubles until she finds the jar wrapped in cloth. She unscrews it; the rich smell of the berry juice hits her first, followed after by the gentle floral scent from whatever petals he had deigned to mix in ages ago. Xayah sniffs a second time, trying to discern the scent. _Windflower_? 

A generous glob is added to the pan of water, then she screws the lid back on. Her hands rest a moment on her thighs as she ponders what to grab next, going over last night’s wound care step-by-step. _The tumine flowers_. They had been effective too, even for pain relief alone it would be worth to have more. _Where had he gotten them? With this cold-snap, would they be wilted by now_ ? 

Xayah mixes the water around until all the salt is dissolved, leaving only the petals and seeds floating about in the hot water, then drops their wash cloths in. Rakan washes his face quickly with the other facecloth, and Xayah quickly swipes over her own. Better to wash it now before the water becomes contaminated with blood. 

“Can I do your back first?” He asks, smiling weakly at her. “While the water is clean.” 

“What about you?” She protests. 

“After.” He speaks assuredly, already wringing out a washcloth between his hands. Xayah waits a few extra long seconds, but slowly turns to reveal her back, unbuttons her night-dress and shucks it down to rest around her waist. She leans onto her knees, stretching out her spine. The scabs pull slightly, but other than that there is no discomfort. 

The worn cloth presses against the nape of her neck, and heat washes down over her, top to bottom, Xayah has to bite back a moan. It feels so good, the only thing she could imagine better would be crawling into a full bath. She wants to melt down, flop onto a bed and allow this pampering, open her arms and legs and pull him in for another squeeze and a story… then she shakes her head, sending the thought flying. 

_Ridiculous… This heat is making me sentimental_ . 

Rakan rubs the scruffy cloth down over her back several times, scrubbing off the dried poultice, then patting dry with a soft linen. She snaps out of her daze when he starts trying to pull her nightdress up to cover her back up from where it had been dropped to her waist. 

Slipping her hands back through the sleeves, she buttons the front with a guilty flush. 

_What am I thinking? We don’t even really know each other_ . _I shouldn’t entirely let down my guard_. 

“Your turn.” She repeats firmly. Rakan, to his credit, does not fight it. 

She drips the water gingerly over his thigh wound at first, watching some of the extra drainage run off with the hot water. It’s slimy-looking, colour and texture reminding her almost of mucus. _Was the low-magic in this area allowing this to happen, or was that merc’s blade coated with something nasty_ ? 

The cloth is dipped back into the pot. Xayah wrings it out, then returns to gently sponging at the sore-looking wound. Rakan’s expression tightens, but he does not complain at the treatment. She washes around the periwound, then scrubs the blood and stained smudges from the surrounding skin of his thigh. Pats dry with one of their soaker cloths. _Only thing left now is the dressing and bandages_. 

“Those flowers you used on me yesterday. Where did you get them?” 

“Oh, those?” Rakan scratches his chin. His brow is shiny, beaded with sweat. “Just up a little ways up this mountain. They grow at high altitudes, on mountain rock.” 

“ _’A little ways_?’” Xayah narrows her eyes, “What does that even mean?” He had left her alone for at least a half hour yesterday while she had bathed. How far could he have managed to climb with a gimped leg? 

“Uh. At the very top.” 

_The very top_ . Her face draws in, sucking in her cheek. _I had struggled enough before it got steep_. 

“Don’t worry, don’t worry – “ Rakan waves a hand placatingly at her. “There’s none left. I picked all that was there yesterday, then replanted some of the seeds.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?” Xayah bites her cheek. “ _Absolutely_?” 

“Yes.” Rakan says firmly before patting her on the hand, then giving it a brief squeeze. “I’ll be okay.” 

_Now what_ ? Wrapping it just with cloth wasn’t the best option, either. Xayah looks down at the wound, then roots through Rakan’s pack for the third time, as if something of use would magically spawn into being. 

_Nothing_ . 

She looks outside at the pine trees swaying in the wind. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

Avoiding Rakan’s questioning gaze she grabs one of their bowls, then strides outside their little camp. The outside air like an icy brick wall. Forcing herself not to shiver, she summons a feather dagger in her hand, then after whispering a prayer of thanks to the tree, stabs her weapon straight into the trunk. It pulls free with a dull sound, and she strikes the same slit again, but stabs in horizontally instead of vertically. Thick, golden resin flows out of the X-shaped sound in the bark. Xayah liberally scrapes some off onto a bowl, then tries to pat the remaining drippage back up to gum up the tree’s wound. 

Returns back into their shelter, she kneels back at his side. 

“Oh!” Rakan looks into the bowl, sniffs a few times. “That could work.” 

Xayah gingerly drips the turpentine onto the wound, slathering as much as possible. There’s old cheesecloth left in their pack, she folds it until its a thick pad, and places it over the incision. Finally she tears strips off a blanket, and secures it in place. 

“Done.” She says. It’s not as nice as Rakan’s handiwork, surely, but it would do better than nothing. 

“So kind of you. You didn’t have to, really – “ He starts, but Xayah shushes him. 

“Shut it. It’s your turn.” 

She washes her hands in the water, then picks up the pot and goes to dump it outside, and fill with fresh icicles. They snap off satisfyingly in her hand, as if she’s plucking fruit from a tree rather than frozen tubes hanging from stone. They look clean enough, no dirt or dead grass trapped in the frozen water. 

She returns to their small camp with the pot, shifting it back atop the fire. By now Rakan has his pants back on, and gestures to a pair of steaming mugs. Xayah’s chest warms as she gazes at them. 

“You didn’t have to.” She says. 

“ _You_ should be resting.” He counters, and pushes a cup into her hand. “We can take as long as you need.” 

“Me? What about you?” She scoffs, but takes the tea and takes a sip. It’s bitter yet fragrant. It makes her feel somewhat more alert. 

“I’m fine. Whenever you wish to go, we can.” Rakan assures her. Though based on his leg, she feels like they’d need to wait at least another day or two. She shuffles in place, the sleepy, yearning feeling returning back to her bit-by-bit. She stares a moment too long at his leg, rapidly looking away when Rakan’s gaze briefly falls over her. 

_A short break would not be too hindering_ . 

In the bottom of Rakan’s backpack they have their provisions. She pulls out the dried meat and fruit, the flatbread. They break their fast together in a companionable silence, eating a portion before wrapping the rest and returning it to the pack. 

Her head feels stuffed with fluff. Xayah yawns and rubs at her eyes. _He’s right next to you_ – a voice in her mind whispers, before flooding her mind with vivid memories of the night previous. _It’d feel so good to have his arms back around me, to lay back down in the nest of blankets with a steady weight at my back…_

“Still tired?” Rakan smiles almost shyly at her, and Xayah startles. 

“No.” She replies quickly, the back of neck burning red-hot. Rakan hums, finishes the rest of his tea with a couple big swallows and places the mug back down near their packs. 

“It’ll be okay, you can rest. I’ll guard you.” He shakily stands, then takes a few steps towards the cave entrance before his leg appears to get caught under him. Rakan drops to one knee, his face crumpled together with a wince. From where Xayah sits, she can see his back shaking. 

“Rakan…?!” She darts to his side, then hesitates once her hands are inches away from touching him. _Familiar. Is it okay to be so comfortable_? Her hands withdraw back, and something inside her chest curls up painfully. 

“Are you okay?” She asks instead. 

“Ah… “ Rakan’s adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah… I – “ He shakes his head, places one hand on the wall of the cave. A few seconds more and he manages to push himself back up with a guttural grunt. 

“You need to rest too.” Xayah takes him by the elbow, leads him with her back to the tent. _Did he suddenly get paler_? He leans over to step inside the small yurt after her, strangely pliant. 

“Lie down.” She says sternly. Rakan hesitates a moment, but Xayah shoots him a glare and he obeys. She wanders once more towards the mouth of the cave glances around briefly outside, then in absence of spotting anything suspicious, returns to their cookfire. The icicles she had picked earlier had melted in the pot, steadily bubbling. She takes it off heat, lays it off to the side. Once it cools it’d be good to refill their waterskins. Satisfied, she leaves the fire to burn out and returns back to the tent. 

Rakan’s eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling evenly. Xayah clicks her tongue. Asleep already? It’d barely been three minutes. Part of her bristles in disappointment, but she lightly smacks her cheeks. _Get a hold of yourself. It’s just your hormones. A few more days, and it’ll be all over for another year_ . 

The blankets are in a swath from her restlessness earlier. Xayah untangles them and starts draping them over Rakan. Once he’s adequately tucked, she settles in next to him, flopping down on the bedroll and pulling up the remaining blankets for herself. She yawns, then rolls onto her stomach, to her side, then back to her stomach again. 

No good. 

No weight at her back, no strong arms squeezing her. _What am I, a child? This isn’t fair._ She pouts, then shoves her face back into a pillow. _My own body has betrayed me_. 

She waits a few minutes more, kicking her feet and changing positions, before finally scowling and glaring back at Rakan, sleeping unaware on his back. 

_Look at this idiot, napping easily_ . _He’s so selfish, he’s not even using his arms right now_! _He should share them_. 

No matter how tight she tried to wrap herself in blankets, it still felt wrong, uncomfortable, too insecure. Earlier, however… the squeezes, the _meep_ s. Xayah’s feathers prick up, she feels her tail feathers spread out like a fan. _Easy. I can just do that again. No harm to it_. 

Dropping back onto Rakan’s chest, she digs her hands to slide between his back and the floor, then squeezed as tightly with her arms as she could manage. 

He makes the sound again; a half-peep sort of chirr, and she grins. Rakan lifts his arms and squeezes her back against his larger body. Xayah sighs happily and relaxes against him. A calm seeps through her, and finally she drifts back to sleep. 

=- 

==-== 

=- 

She stirs hours later, sweating and sticky. Xayah blinks, rubs her eyes with a blanket. _Why was it so hot_? Shifting, pries off Rakan’s arms, tosses off the blankets and sits up. 

“Mnmm Xayah?” Rakan mumbles after the second blanket is tucked over his feet. His eyes flutter open; they are shiny, unfocused. Cheeks ruddy. Xayah hovers the back of her hand over his forehead. 

_Hot. Worse than this morning_ . 

“Yes? What is it?” _Should I gather more ice or frost? Wrap it in a cloth and lay it on his forehead? Or would it be best to let him burn this bug away_ ? 

He giggles and Xayah snaps back to reality. 

“You’re so beautiful – you know?” He slurs. 

“Am I?” Xayah’s mouth goes dry. The validity of the compliment was questionable, but… 

“Yeees. Strong too.” He adds. Then his mouth turns downward, his watery eyes wide and pleading. “Do you think I’m pretty?” 

“Yes Rakan, you’re very pretty.” 

His face breaks out into a huge smile. Jutting out his chin, he replies; 

“Thank you. I know.” 

“You need to drink something – “ Xayah starts, and stands up. Rakan reaches for her as she walks towards the exit. 

“Noooo are you leaving?” 

“Just for a minute.” She reassures him, goes out to the cave proper. The pot she had boiled earlier had now completely cooled; the water inside was even a bit on the colder side, thin pieces of ice already forming across the top. She breaks it with her fingers and fills their waterskins with it, corking and tying them back closed before returning to the tent. 

Xayah helps him sit up, then hands him the heavy canteen. Rakan empties it in a single long chug. Xayah takes only a few sips from hers, wetting her dry mouth while watching her travelling partner with thinly veiled amusement. 

“Ahhh thank-you Xayah. Hits the spot.” He beams, discarding the empty waterskin off to the side. “You know, about yesterday, I was thinking…” 

“What?” Xayah corks her canteen and lays it down. Her back goes tight. _I thought we had an understanding… not to discuss any of that_. Her ears burn. 

“Close your eyes.” He says, flaps his hand errantly. “I’ll explain.” 

Xayah glances at him, raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t offer any further explanation and she eventually obeys. All she sees is the darkness of the back of her eyelids, and for a moment the world is quiet. Even Rakan seems to have stopped fidgeting in the bedding. Then he speaks again, voice a playful lilt. 

“Now - how do you know that I’m here?” 

_What a stupid question_ . _Did the fever make him this confused_? She opens her eyes briefly to glare at him, but he’s still watching her earnestly, eyes shining. Xayah sighs and re-closes her eyes. 

“I can hear you,” She says, “and I just saw you.” 

“Can you sense my presence spiritually? Intuitively?” He prods, speaking like some gypsy at a fair, flowery and grandiose. She’d think it a joke if not for that he looks so earnest, too feverishly honest. 

Xayah shakes her head no. Rakan pensively hums. 

“The people we love are always with us, you just have to train yourself to be able to hear it. You are never alone Xayah, I know it. You understand right?” There are stars in his eyes, alight and glittering. 

Her heart clenches. She shakes her head again, banishing unwelcome memories, then opens her eyes only to stare down at her knees. “You should sleep again Rakan. You need your rest to heal.” 

“Mhm. Okay. You too?” He settles back against the pillows, fists clenching around the tangled blankets. 

“I…” Xayah swallows. It smells safe here. _There’s no point to dwelling, not now_. Not here, outside time. The cause, the fight, the next town. That was what mattered. 

Rakan’s eyes are already half-closed, his breathing slowing. Xayah tucks him in and lies beside him, hugging his body through the blankets, resolving to banish the rest of the day to drifting, half-conscious dreams. 

=-----= 

The next morning Xayah awakens to the sound of sizzling meat. The smell of cooking fat and sweet smoke wafts deliciously over through the tent. 

“Rakan?” She pats about her, blearily rubs her hands down her face. Even with the sleep-fog, her mind feels clearer than previous days, her body not feeling so warm and discontent. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Xayah crawls to the edge of their tent and peeks out. 

The peacock is sitting next to their fire, poking at strips of meat in a small pan. 

“Oh, mornin’ Xayah.” He greets her. 

“How …are you feeling?” She slowly moves to join him. He grins, bright as ever. 

“I woke up feeling great!! Yesterday is a little fuzzy, though.” He notices her staring at the pan. “I caught some rabbits!! Looks good, huh?” 

_Rabbits. Did I sleep so deeply that he could sneak out without me waking_ ? The thought was disturbing, if not confusing. _Have I really let my guard down so much_? 

“I told you before that you didn’t have to go hunt.” She says, mouth watering, and tears her gaze away from the meat. “Especially not in your condition.” 

“I wanted to! And besides, take a look!” Rakan shucks one side of his pants down to the knee, revealing the skin of his thigh. It’s completely healed over, only a tiny mark of white showing that he had ever been pierced. “See? I told you, I heal fast. Your resin helped a lot though!” 

Xayah double takes. 

This place was sluggish, asleep, drained of most magic. _How could he manage to heal so fast_? Xayah turns her attention back to the pan. Rakan watches her, knowing smile on his face as he reties his slacks. 

“Besides, I wanted to show my thanks for taking such good care of me ~” He hums, passes her a cup of tea, then starts taking the cook pan off the fire. Xayah accepts the mug, the events of the last few days flash through her mind, but she can’t speak of it, can’t bring it up enough to give him a proper reference of her degree of gratitude. Her tongue is tied. She lifts the cup to her lips instead and sips it, her stomach churning. Rakan appears to not notice, blowing with comically puffed out cheeks at the pieces of rabbit to cool the morsels slightly before plucking one out of the pan and offering it to her. 

“Rakan…Thank you.” She says, trying to put extra weight into the words, accepts the meat from his fingers. 

Rakan beams back. 

“Of course. We’re partners Xayah! Teammates. We have each other’s back.” 

“Yeah. Partners.” She agrees without thinking. Rakan looks warm, feathers lighting up, exuding sunshine at her words. She flushes, quickly pops the meat into her mouth and starts to noisily chew. Rakan laughs and takes a piece for himself as well. 

Xayah swallows quickly, wipes the back of her hand across her lips. No excuses now, both of them fighting fit again. It was time to return to the outside world, to the daily hunt, the never-ending search. A ripple of sadness runs through her - she quickly stamps it out. This was the point, was _everything_ , the only reason now for her life. Maybe now, with trustworthy company, it’d be a bit easier. Once they leave here, everything would be left behind, her outburst forgotten. 

“So then!” She clears her throat. “We pack. Then…to Tuula?” 

Rakan returns her gaze, meeting her just as he always did. Something’s hiding there, she thinks, but it’s not something she’s in a place to understand quite yet. Rakan stretches out his shoulders, then smiles back at her, hidden humour in his reply. 

“Yes.” He says. “To Tuula.” 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again! Feel free to discuss your rage or indifference at the bio changes in the comments below. After this, I'll be attempting to finish up poly in order to get ready for the SG sequel. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I still might rewrite this thing in full, depending on how its received. I hope you somewhat enjoyed. Stay tuned for chapter 2, which will be infinitely fluffier.


End file.
